The Last Boat
by Elmrada
Summary: Separated in the mania of the sinking, they must press on and hope to make it count. Tormented by the ghosts of their past, Jack and Rose must survive for each other. The hardest part is moving on. Or so they thought it was. *Dedicated to poorlittlerichgirl91*
1. A Life Worth Living

_Author's Note: Well, I'm usually not so quick to publish back-to-back stories, but this one has been on my mind for a while and I'm glad to be finally getting it out here. This story is dedicated to poorlittlerichgirl91; she is an amazing author whose stories have actually given me the inspiration to write this one. Thanks for everything._

_Please be warned, this is a slowburn JackxRose story._

The Last Boat

Chapter One

_September 18th, 1912_  
_Wisconsin_

Amongst the tallest mountains, there was silence. The pine trees were still. Distantly, however, there was a sound echoing off the range. Around a steep bend came a glossy black train, a trail of grey steaming from its blowstack. It tooted again to announce mankinds presence in the most staggering of mountains. The shiny train was a monument to the obstacles mankind could overcome. The ride inside the train, though, was a different story. Mankind could travel far and wide, that was proven, but many people wondered why _comfort _wasn't apart of the equation. The trains were rough and bumpy in the mountains. Many passengers were glued to the window or gripping the armrests. There were not many people aboard the train. Many others simply decided to transfer three or four trains, rather than taking the most direct route out of Wisconsin. Bumps had passengers bouncing in their seats. Reading was asking for a nauseating headache. Drinking tea was begging for scalded skin. The cabin was rather silent, only nine people spread out, occupying different seats. No one spoke, mostly because their vocal cords were being thrown back and forth with each board in the track. Sitting in the very back of the train cabin, curled up with a bag pressed against her hip, was Rose Dawson.

It was evident she was tired. She was wearing a black woolen coat. The sleeves were too long and nearly swallowed the entirety of her slender hands. She had a dark grey scarf wound around neck, her hair pinned into a messy bun on the back of her head. Her knees were tucked up to her chest in her seat, her head lolled against the cool window. She was too tired to care about the bumps causing her head to knock against the glass. Rose had been in Wisconsin for nearly the entirety of September. She had been looking for something, that finally, she had found. And yet, she was too exhausted to pore through what she had in her posession, tucked gingerly in her bag. She decided to save it for when she returned home to New York City. She wanted to be in the comfort of her apartment.

1912 had been a whirlwind of a year for seventeen year old Rose Dawson. Just five months ago, her name was Rose DeWitt Bukater. She viewed her past self as a coward. An obedient God-fearing little girl. She looked back on herself with great disdain. She harbored many regrets. Rose set her chin on her knees, staring at the vacant seat in front of her. Just five months ago, however, that coward Rose saw allowed herself to remain dead, invisible, to those of her past life. That God-fearing little girl left the shelter of the life she once knew to pursue the unknown. Rose didn't regret that at all. Though it had been shocking to read her own funeral announcement in the newspapers printed all the way in New York City, she felt it had been the proper closure for that cowardly God-fearing little girl that once was. Now, Rose was certain she didn't exist anymore.

In the grand scheme of things, Rose felt like she hadn't gotten much done. But in her own little world, her steps forward had been monumental. She had been for a few weeks following her arrival in New York City at a small clinic, that allowed her to share a room for free while she recovered from freezing temperatures. During her time living in the clinic, she had managed to secure a job as a waitress and by the time her stay at the clinic was expiring, she had saved enough money for a small apartment by herself just a neighborhood over, in a quaint place with trees growing out from in between the buildings. Distantly, over the rooftops, the sharp skyline of New York City could be seen, but luckily, not heard.

Rose had been going for a walk that crisp spring afternoon to clear her mind. She had been wondering what her next steps would be as the clinic prepared to turn her out on a good bill of health. When she saw the 'For Rent' sign in the window of a two-story apartment building, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Rose approached the sign in the window slowly. At the bottom it said, 'Inquire in Apartment 101'. The person who answered the door was an elderly gentlemen with a heavy Northern accent. He introduced himself as Edgar. Rose was nervous the man wouldn't even give her the time of day, but to her surprise, he took her straight across the hall to Apartment 102, and allowed her to poke around.

The apartment opened into a wide open space with cream colored carpet and two large picture windows facing towards the skyline. To the left of the entrance was a breakfast bar dividing the living space from the kitchen, where black and white tile lined the floor. Beyond the kitchen, at the furthest wall was a hallway leading towards a full bathroom and a decently sized bedroom with a big window. Rose was in love with it upon first sight. She thought about how cozy it would be. A place of her own, where she could do whatever she pleased. Edgar had inquired about her marital status and she grimaced when she recalled her ugly staggering. But Edgar was partial to young women trying to get their bearings. He had three daughters of his own, whom he loved very much. He rented the apartment to Rose without a second thought.

A violent buck of the train brought Rose back to reality as she was tossled in her seat. A cry rose from other passengers, but resided as the train continued as normal. A loose curl fell from Rose's gathered hand, sweeping against her cheek. She readjusted herself in her seat, spreading her tired legs across the empty seat beside her. She held her woolen coat closed, her head against the window again. Her eyes were growing droopy as she gazed out on the majestic snow-capped mountains. It had been her view her entire stay in Wisconsin. She would miss the mountains, she was sure. It was where she had felt most connected to him in the entirety of those five months.

Thinking of Jack Dawson tore Rose's heart to shreds. The thought of him made her crumple. And yet, he occupied her mind quite frequently. As time went on, it got easier, or so she thought. But the simplest of things reminded her of him. Pencils and paper. The night time sky. The sound of the ocean. His blue eyes haunted her endlessly. She got goosebumps when she recalled his husky whisper along her ear, "Come Josephine in my flying machine..."

Rose shuddered and sat up in her seat. A chill came over her body and she glanced across the aisle at the man in the wrinkled suit, snoring in his seat. She swallowed roughly, taking a breath to steady her heart rate. She looked out the window once more before opening the bag sitting beside her in the seat. Wisconsion was a large state with not many people living in it. Rose had learned it was a lot of traveling between towns in Wisconsin. And because the population was so sparse, finding things could be even harder. Rose had spent weeks hopping between towns, trying to figure out where the state's vital records were kept. Many people weren't entirely sure. She had started in Chippewa Falls, with absolutely no luck. She had left just as quick, feeling a building tensity in her shoulders. She travelled to the capital of Wisconsin, Madison, and finally her journey had been fulfilled.

Rose pulled a folder from the bag, her hands trembling greatly. The train rocked back and forth as it went around a bend on the curve of the mountain. Rose's fingers gently grazed over the top of the folder, coming to rest on the tab at the edge. Her thumb picked at the corner of it, where her eyes were glued to the word 'DAWSON' scrawled across it. Rose bit down on her lip, taking a deep breath in through her frailed nostrils. She tucked her scraf beneath her chin and still only stared at the folder in her hand. Her curiosity waned in the next moment as sorrow gripped her insides. She tucked the folder away to be forgotten for the rest of the train ride.

...

_September 24th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

"Rose, doll, glad to have you back!" Came a booming voice that was much too loud for the time of the morning. It rang out across the diner the moment Rose came through the door, all the while tying her apron around her waist, over her crimson red waitress dress. Rose looked up towards the familiar face, her curls falling over her shoulder. She grinned when she saw her boss, Winston, standing at the counter with a steaming mug of coffee. He was an older man, rather round, with a pudgey bald head. He owned and managed the diner and treated all of his waitresses like daughters. He cared for his employees and it made Rose want to work for him. He had been good to her in her months of employment. The work had been steady, too.

"Hey, Winston," Rose sauntered to the counter and he set about to getting her coffee before the morning rush mobbed them, "How were things while I was gone?"

"Oh, busy as usual," Winston said over his shoulder, "We sure did miss you. Where'd you go again?" He cocked a bushy eyebrow up as he slid her drink across the bar to her.

"To visit family," Her green eyes peered over her mug of coffee, "in Wisconsin."

"How was it up there?" He asked after a drink himself, "I've never been."

"It's cold," Rose chuckled, nodding her head, "I don't know how they stand living up there."

"It gets pretty damn cold here, too," Winston grinned, "Soon enough, we'll be shovelling the door free of snow."

"Oh, that'll be fun," The two shared a laugh.

Just then, the bell at the door rang out, signifying their first guest of the morning, as it neared seven. It was a tall man with dark black hair left un-gelled, allowed to gently claw over his forehead. He had olive skin and hazel eyes with bold brows set over the top. He wore dark rimmed circular glasses that made him look smart. He was wearing a crisp black suit with the faintest pinstripes, a tan trench coat draped over it. His shoes were magnificently shiny. He altogether came off as a well-put together man. He walked with his shoulders square, his briefcase at his side, as he found a booth to slide into. He ruffled in his briefcase and withdrew the paper, waiting to be served.

"I'll let you get that one," Winston winked at her, "I know you fancy Mr. Calvert there."

Rose's cheeks warmed up, "I do not. What is your proof?"

"Sweetheart," Winston chuckled deeply, reaching across to place his gruff hand atop her's, "you don't even need to be told how to make his coffee anymore. That, to me, is a true sign of affection."

Rose rolled her eyes melodramatically, "Or that could just mean he's a regular."

"However you wanna explain it, doll," Winston began walking towards the kitchen.

Rose let out a flustered sigh and jogged around to the back of the bar. Carelessly, she tossed the rest of her coffee down the drain, letting the mug clatter to the bottom. She pulled a fresh mug out and immediately set to making Mr. Calvert's coffee. It was true, he was a regular. Rose had seen him nearly every day over the course of the summer. He was a lawyer and had long days. He enjoyed the diner, it seemed to Rose. It was his peaceful start of coffee and a proper breakfast before he was sent to his office. He preferred a strong coffee with two cubes of sugar and just a small amount of creamer. Rose knew she did it right by the darker color, he was particular about the saturation. Hurriedly, she took it to his table, drawing him from his newspaper.

"Good morning, Tim," She greeted cooly, smoothing her skirt out.

"Rose, hello," His eyes lit up when he saw her, "Where have you been? My coffee hasn't been right for weeks. No one has the magic touch like you do," Tim grinned and lifted his mug, taking a satisfying sip, "Mmmm, yup. Glad to have you back, Rose."

"Thank you," Rose clapsed her hands together nervously, "I was visiting family. It's good to be back home. Feels right sleeping in my bed again," The two shared a polite laugh. Rose scuffed her cream heels to the tile for a moment, "Are you hungry? Anything I can get you?"

"Big court date today," Tim said, folding his newspaper in half and discarding it on the table, "Definitely going to need to eat right. I'll take the full she-bang. Eggs, toast, sausage, pancakes, oh, and some hash browns."

"Coming right up," Rose told him before she disappeared towards the back. Winston had his tie flung over his shoulder as he helped the other two cooks, Herbert and Quincy, prepare the kitchen for another day of business, "Are you ready back here?" She called to get their attention.

"Hm?" Winston peered between the stoves, "Oh, yeah, what's your beau want?"

"Winston," Rose couldn't help but grin at the playful teasing.

"Alright, alright," Winston came around the stoves, his hands on his hips, "what do we got, Rose?"

"A full breakfast," Rose handed him the ticket with a cheeky grin, "He's got a court date today, so give him a little extra, will you?" Winston gave her a mischevious side eye before he snapped the ticket out of Rose's hand. He winked at her as she went back towards the diner, where the steady wave of business men were trickling in.

...

Rose slammed her small mailbox in the foyer of her apartment complex shut. She sighed as she looked at the one sole envelope she had received. It was from the nice nurse at the clinic she had stayed in. They occasionally sent letters to her to reach out, usually sending their thoughts. It was kind, but Rose had stopped responding, not wanting to return to the weak person she had been in that clinic. She never wanted to live through another frustratingly empty night in those stiff beds again. Rose began up the hallway towards her apartment, the first on the right. She rustled in her coat pocket for her keys, glancing towards her stained apron.

"Rose!" Came a rather squeaky voice. She let out a sigh and lifted her eyes to see a young girl, no older than fourteen, watering a plant in the hallway. She had blond hair that was always pinned back in a ponytail with a ribbon that matched her dress. Today it was pink. She lowered the watering can to her side. It nearly knocked the wiry girl over as the water shifted back and forth, "I haven't seen you since you got back! When did you return? Where'd you go? What'd you see?"

Rose gently rubbed her temple, trying to keep the exasperation off her face. It was Liliana, Edgar's youngest daughter. She was nosy by nature and liked to think she was a fully grown woman. She took a special interest in Rose.

"Did you buy anything cool up there? If so, could I come over and look at it?" Liliana continued, now setting the watering can down and folding her hands together excitedly, "Did you meet anybody interesting or go on a fun adventure? What did you do on your trip, Rose?"

"I just visited family," Rose told the young girl, looking down at her, "It wasn't anything adventurous or grand, sorry to disappoint you, Liliana."

"Aw, okay," She nodded. Liliana picked the watering can back up, "Have any plants you need me to water? Daddy said to check with all the tenants."

"No, but thanks for asking," Rose grinned politely and went to her door, jabbing the key in. She glanced fleetingly over her shoulder at her neighbor, "I'll see you later, Liliana."

"Can I come over after dinner?" Liliana asked, stepping towards Rose, "Cat and Suzette are going to a theatre production and said I couldn't go. I'll be all alone this evening!"

"You should stay with your father," Rose told her, striding through her door, "Maybe another time. I have things I have to do this evening."

Rose didn't wait to hear Liliana's protest. She shut the door and flicked the lock over, letting out a long sigh as she finally was home for the day. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. She kicked her heels off carelessly, allowing her feet to sink into the carpet. She scrunched her toes up and pushed her hair from face, resting her hands on her hips. In the five months she had occupied the apartment, she had finally accumulated enough furniture to really call it a home. Her favorite part of her house were the two large oak bookcases in the living room that nearly reached the ceiling. The shelves were jammed with books, many more shoehorned into the collection. The coffee table had books stacked on it of all kinds of different topics. Anything that interested Rose, she bought a book about it.

Rose went to the kitchen and set the tea kettle on the stove. She then changed into a loose nightgown and a cotton robe, ready to unwind for the evening. She lit a few candles and opened a window in her living room to allow the breeze to come in. As she padded through the living room, she paused when something caught her eye. She peered over the back of the couch towards the cluttered coffee table. On top of a stack of books about Abraham Lincoln and James Madison was the folder she had returned from Wisconsin with. Rose's nails dug into the cushion of the couch as her eyes caught the word 'DAWSON' again. She knew there was a font of information behind the cover of that folder. It was things she thought she wanted to know.

The tea kettle began to whistle, startling Rose. She gasped sharply, pressing her hand to her thundering chest. She glanced towards the folder once more before she rushed into the kitchen, flicking the gas off the stove and moving the kettle from the hot plate. She placed her hands flat to the counter, leaning against and sighing deeply. Could she really bear to let herself read that information? Did she want to un-do her heartstrings, make her pain deepen? Rose rubbed her eyes with trembling hands and then resigned herself to looking out the window.

She simply wasn't ready yet.


	2. Normalcy

Chapter Two

_September 29th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

The rain pattered on the windowsills just outside of Rose's apartment. The sound was calming to her. She had the day off from work and the weather put her in the mood to simply read and write. She had found a nice oak antique desk a few weeks ago and a cheap typewriter from an estate sale right before she left for Wisconsin. It now was against the wall nearest to her bookshelves. She hadn't even used the typewriter yet, but her fingers tingled excitedly thinking about those keys.

She finished pinning her hair back into a messy bun on her head, opting to wear a loose white button up and olive green pants. Rose grabbed her mug of tea off the vanity table and went to the living room. She pulled the curtains back so she could get a full view of the steady downpour outside. She held her mug against her as she simply watched the sullen day. It reminded her of the journey on the _Carpathia_. It had been dreary, like herself, the entire rest of the way to New York City.

Rose turned from the window and seated herself in the chair closest. She set her mug down on the only free spot on the coffee table and began running her thumbs along the spines of books, wondering what would interest her today. She furrowed her brow together as she tried to recall the latest book she had picked up from the store. Rose muttered to herself as she grabbed a stack of books, turning the spines towards her. She nearly knocked another tower over. She lunged for it, holding it upright. Rose let out a relieved sigh as she transferred books to other stacks to even it out. She paused, however, right before she set a book down on the folder from Wisconsin.

She chewed on her lip and stared at it. It had been over a week since Rose had returned home with what she had been wanting. She figured she'd already had read it by now, but something still held her back. Something about the sight of 'DAWSON' made her stomach twist. Rose sighed, flaring her nostrils. She never would forget Jack, she tried to argue with herself. Why should she keep things about him a mystery to her? She slowly grabbed the folder and set the book down, her eyes never leaving the tab where his last name was. Her own last name, as she had fully adopted it.

"I'll just look at the first thing on top..." Rose told herself, her eyes sliding shut, "Just one page at a time... there isn't a rush..."

With trembling hands, she slowly pushed open the folder. The first thing on top was his birth certificate. Rose's breathing hitched in her throat as her eyes hovered over the official seal for the State of Wisconsin. Rose slid back in her seat, pressing herself flat to the cushion and cradled the documents in her lap. She brought the birth certificate into her hands, raising it, her body quaking.

John Cole Dawson. Her eyes became wet as she grinned at his proper name. She laughed at herself, shaking her head and glancing towards the wet window as tears brimmed her vision. Why had she never considered what his full name was? She hadn't even thought about Jack being his nickname. It suited him much better than John, in her opinion. She blinked for a moment before continuing, hoping to have the tears subside, but they remained.

Born in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Rose nodded, sniffling slightly as her eyes took in every detail. Date of birth was listed as November 8th, 1892, at ten-thirty at night. Rose lowered her eyes, "He would have been twenty-one this year..." She whispered, feeling an awful dread begin to sink into her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She wanted to go on.

His mother's name Elena Wilson Dawson; nineteen at the time of Jack's birth. His father's name was James Franklin Dawson; twenty-seven. Rose sat back and gazed across the apartment complex, bobbing her knee absent-mindedly. She wondered what his parents looked like. How they had raised him. They didn't get to discuss much. All she knew was that they had passed on.

Rose closed the folder and put it back on the coffee table. She felt simply overwhelmed. Looking at the information evoked a feeling Rose had not carefully calculated for. A feeling of regret ached in her bones as she realized they had not been given enough time together. They hadn't gotten to talk and divulge as much as it seemed they were destined to. A lonely feeling blossomed in her stomach as she put her elbows into her knees and cradled her head in her palms. There was so much, she felt, that didn't get to happen. She felt she still had things to say to him and worried with unrelenting fear there were words left unsaid by him. Rose would give anything to hear his voice one more time. His laughter. To see his signature lop-sided grin and feel his carefree nature. She missed the intoxicating aroma of him that reminded her of the pine trees in Wisconsin. But most of all, she missed touching him. She missed the way his hands felt on her skin, the way their bodies molded together so perfectly. She missed his contagious free spirit. She missed the energy he gave her.

Rose allowed herself to cry. She curled up into her chair, covering her hands over her eyes. She hunched her shoulders as she thought about what she had lost. The opportunity she had allowed to slip through her fingers. It would haunt her endlessly, she was convinced. The survivors guilt would never cease to plague her. She would continually ask herself until her last breath, why had she survived? What had made her life so much more important than Jack's? What did the world, the universe, _God_, want from her that they couldn't get from him? It was a bitter and tragic waste of life. It was the extinguisher of the light in her life. She was worried she'd never find a way to rejuvenate it. Rose finally forced herself to stop sobbing. The tears continued down her flushed face as she tilted her head back to rest against the cusion, her eyes watching the raindrops descend like her tears.

...

_October 4th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was bright and alive. There wasn't a cloud in the cerulean blue sky. The air was crisp as fall waxed on. Orange, yellow, and red leaves danced in the wind, tumbling down the sidewalks. Rose looked out the windows towards the street as she refilled coffee cups at a patrons table. Many people bustled by in peacoats, scarves, and hats. The wind seemed to be becoming gustier as the morning waned into the early afternoon. Rose flashed a polite grin to the customers before she moved on, collecting dishes from an abandoned table, and continuing down the aisle.

"More coffee?" Rose asked, stopping at Tim's table with the dishes balanced against her hip. She held the coffee pot in her other hand up towards Tim, who was reading the newspaper as usual. He lifted his eyes to her and grinned.

"Please," He nodded.

"Late start today?" Rose threw a glance towards the clock above the door.

"Even better," Tim adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "no clients or meetings today. It was a complete stroke of luck, so I'm taking advtange of it by doing as I please," He reached for his hot coffee, lifting it to Rose, "And you're really making it the best, let me tell you, Rose."

She smiled at him, her cheeks growing hot, "Let me know if you need anything else, Tim."

"I might just stay for lunch, too," He warned her as he picked his newspaper back up.

"I'll let you know when the kitchen is hot!" Rose called over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner towards the kitchen. She hauled the dishes into the sink where the washer, Phillip, was hustling to stay ahead, "A five top came in a few moments ago," Rose turned to the kitchen staff that were dancing around each other hurriedly, "Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Thanks, Rose," Quincy replied without even glancing up from the pan of sizzling potatoes.

Rose went back to the bar and glanced underneath, pleased to see two racks of clean mugs. She looked over the diner to see many of the tables occupied. Waitresses dashed by with orders in hands and trays balanced over their heads. Rose went down the line of workers sitting at the bar, filling their coffee mugs, her mind already thinking about what she had to do next. Quickly, she went and cleared more tables of dishes before the next wave of customers could come in. She hurried them back to the kitchen, returning to the diner with hot dishes for waiting guests.

She let out a huff and paused in the middle of the aisle, her hands on her hips as she contemplated what to do next. But suddenly, someone's eyes caught her attention. Tim's hazel eyes were peering at her from above the paper. She could tell he was smiling by the way the skin crinkled in the corner of his eyes. She found herself grinning back at him, flushing like a nervous school girl. Rose turned away from Tim, smoothing her apron out absent-mindedly, her mind traveling far away from her in that moment.

...

_October 13th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

A knock on Rose's apartment door drew her from her typewriter. She glanced around the room momentarily, not realizing how much time had escaped. Dusk had descended on New York, only the faintest glow of sunlight appearing on the horizon out her window. Her apartment was dark as she had failed to turn any lights on besides the one on her desk. The knock came again, puzzling her. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone. She never was.

Rose flicked on the lamp closest to the door and undid the locks, slowly peaking her head out. Edgar, her landlord, was standing there with a friendly grin, as usual, "Oh, Edgar," Rose tried to conceal her surprise, opening the door fully now, "Hi, how are you?" She asked, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Sorry to bother you so late, Miss Dawson," Edgar laughed, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck, "I wanted to hand deliver this to you. It's an invitation for Liliana's birthday party this weekend. She _insisted _I give it to you directly."

"Oh, she's sweetheart," Rose grinned and took the invitation into her hand. Edgar had been so generous towards her she felt the least she could do was be tolerant of his all very different daughters. They had lost their mother within the past two years, she imagined it was rough on them. She could relate, in a way, to losing family, whether it was by nature or her own course of actions.

"It'll just be here across the hall," Edgar told her, adjusting the suspenders around his beer belly, "You can bring a plus one, if you'd like."

Rose lifted her eyes from looking at her name written on the card in a handwriting lacking finnesse, most likely done by Liliana, who was too distracted by her looks and acting like a girl, to focus on her studies, "Do you have any suggestions on what to buy her?"

"She likes cosmetics, hair decorations, perfumes," Edgar said, "She's the girliest of the three."

Rose smiled at the thought, "I think I have just the idea."

"Don't worry about spending too much," Edgar shook his head, "The girl is spoiled as it is. As the baby, she has always been doted on. You coming is a gift, I'd say."

"Well, she deserves a little something for her birthday," Rose shrugged.

"You're a good woman, Miss Dawson," Edgar smiled warmly, "I try to do as much as I can for the girl's on their birthday. The cake just doesn't taste the same when their mother doesn't bake it."

Rose returned the smile, tilting her head to rest against the door frame, "I'll be there."


	3. Spirit

Chapter Three

_October 16th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

That chilly Friday morning, not many people were in the diner. It was a great relief for Rose who had brought Leonardo Da Vinci's biography to work with her and she knew she'd have time to read a little. As usual, though, Tim Calvert was in his same booth that overlooked the intersection from the corner the diner sat on. Rose paused at the bar, gazing his direction. The man was the epitome of composed. Rose wished she could feel and look at that way. She tapped her nails to the counter for a moment more before making a new cup of coffee for Tim, hurriedly taking it to his table. He was pleasant and polite, like he normally was. And he was low on coffee and always happy for more.

"Thanks," He said, accepting the warm mug from her, "I'll need it today. Two hearings back-to-back. I probably won't even get to have lunch. This is will get me through it, for sure."

"Do you have the weekend off, at least?" Rose asked.

"Always," Tim grinned, "I need me-time, too," He cocked a bold brow up from behind his glasses, "Why? Are you doing anything fun this weekend?"

"Oh," Rose's face grew hot and she hugged herself at her elbows, laughing sheepishly, "no, actually. My neighbor's having a birthday party for his daughter and she really wants me to go."

"That's nice," Tim replied, "How old is she turning?"

"Fifteen, I believe," Rose nodded, "I'm going to buy her birthday present after work."

"Well, would you like me to accompany you to the party?" Tim asked, boldly and confidently. Rose nearly had the breath taken out of her. He was so calculated and sure in his wording. Not a moment of hesitation. She could feel the blood beneath her skin pulsating. He was asking to spend time with her. In her past half-year since the _Titanic _she had been so guarded, so fearful. And part of her still was that. She gazed into his hazels eye, though, and found comfort.

"If you'd like," She replied, breathily, "It will probably just be a huge gaggle of girls acting silly. Sugar, sweets, the works. Do you think you're prepared for that?" Her cheeks were red as she grinned at him now.

"Oh, believe me, I'm prepared for the squealing and the tears," Tim laughed and it made Rose's body quake, "Would you like to hear funny something about me?" Rose nodded. Tim had to chuckle again before his hazel eyes came back to her's, "I have _six _sisters. I'm the only boy."

"What!" Rose's mouth dropped open and her laugh echoed through the diner, "You're kidding me! Where are you in the mix?"

"I'm the second born," Tim said, "So imagine my family life growing up. I would happily attend the party with you. I think I'd be of some help to _you_, actually."

Rose grinned and shifted the weight back and forth between her feet, feeling light as a feather. She fished into her apron and pulled her small notepad out, "Be at my apartment by two o'clock," She scribbled her address across it hurriedly and ripped it from the pad. She paused for a moment before she held it out to Tim, who gave her a pearly smile and gingerly accepted to note from her.

"Alright," Tim glanced up from the note, his grin never wavering, "I'll be there."

...

"Winston, I'm done out here! I'm heading home!" Rose called down the corridor leading towards the stock room and mop closet. There was shifting before her boss peaked out from the storage room, a clipboard in hand, his tie flung over his shoulder, "It's okay if I leave, right? I really need to get to the pharmacy before it closes."

"Sure, doll," Winston nodded, coming into the hallway now, "The mugs are ready for tomorrow morning?" Rose nodded, "The floor is swept?" Another nod of the head, "Okay, you're free to go," He grinned paternally, "Are you going to get cosmetics for your date tomorrow?"

"Date?" Rose echoed, chuckling at Winston. She dug her hands into the pockets of her peacoat, scuffing her heels against the concrete floor, "It's not a date, Winston. And besides, how did you know?"

"I saw you give him a note," Winston said, "Classic, by the way."

"Well, Mr. Nosy," Rose turned her chin upwards in a mocking aristrocratic way, "no, I'm not buying cosmetics. We're going to a birthday party and I can't come empty handed, right?"

"And without your tall, dark and handsome man on your arm," Winston chuckled, his voice crinkling from his years of smoking, "I'm just teasin' you, sweetheart," Winston set the clipboard down on a shelf and walked towards Rose, bringing his arms up to gently touch her's, "I want you to have a grand time. It's good for you to let your hair down sometimes. Remember that, okay?"

Rose grinned and lowered her eyes to her shoes, nodding stiffly. She finally looked back to him, "Thanks, Winston."

...

_October 17th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

Right at two o'clock, on the dot, Rose's door was knocked on. Rose had just finished her hair and cursed for letting time get away from her that day. She had woken up late, to her dismay, and spent the morning cleaning her kitchen and bathroom. She darted out to the living room, heading to the door, and muttered under her breath when she realized the books were still cluttered all over her coffee table and left scattered across the couch cushions.

She pulled the door open to see Tim in a grey three-piece suit, a big grin on his face. He looked like a lawyer every day of the week. Rose couldn't help but think he looked so charming in his vest. She liked how he kept his hair rather messy compared to the rest of his sharp looks. She grinned and stepped aside to welcome him in.

"Sorry about the mess," Rose said, closing the door after him.

He grinned, strolling towards the books on the coffee table. He stopped to admire her jammed packed bookshelves, glancing towards her desk, cluttered with papers around her typewriter. Tim leaned over beside the coffee table, his eyes following the titles.

"Quite a collection you have here," Tim whistled, coming upright again, "All kinds of different things, actually. You just read whatever sounds interesting?"

"Pretty much," Rose nodded, standing behind a loveseat, "I just like to read."

"I can tell," Tim chuckled, looking back to her bookshelves, "I'm jealous. My library is not nearly as large," He crossed back to her desk, resting his hand on her typewriter, "I have this same one in my office at work. An E. Remington 1907 model, right?" He peered along the sign, "Ah, yes, here's the engraving," He looked over his shoulder towards her, "A very good typewriter. It'll last you awhile."

"It's served me well so far," Rose said, coming to the side of her desk to join him.

"Make sure to polish at the base of the keys," Tim told her, "They get sticky after awhile."

"Good tip," Rose giggled, "I'll keep that in mind."

"So," Tim placed his hands on hips, "what'd you get for the birthday girl?"

"Oh, here, let me show you. It's in the kitchen," She gestured for him to follow her to the counter where a yellow and blue gift bag was sitting there, beggining to be opened. Rose gingerly parted the tissue paper and withdrew a clear bottle of perfume, "Liliana always comments on my perfume, so I bought her her very own bottle."

Tim took the bottle into his hand, looking at the label. He popped the cap, taking a small whiff, "Hmmm, it does smell like you," He looked back to the label, "So, you smell like popuri and lavender, huh? That's nice to know. I could never quite pinpoint the aroma."

Rose's cheeks flushed as she tucked the perfume back into the bag, fluffing the paper. She took in a curt breath, looking to Tim, "Well, I suppose we should get a move on for the party."

"Is it far?" Tim asked, "I know you said neighbor, but in New York, that could be anywhere," He grinned crookedly, "Everyone's a neighbor in New York City."

Rose smiled at the thought, "It's just across the way, in apartment 101. My landlord's daughter."

"Oh, that's easy," Tim took his glasses off his face, pulling a hankey from his coat and wiping the lens. Rose took the time to gape at his face without glasses. He looked handsome with them on or off. But she liked that she could see his eyes even better. Her pupils glided over his olive skin as he peered through the glasses for smudges before setting them back on the bridge of his nose, "Well, shall we?"

"We shall," Rose nodded, plucking the bag off the counter.

...

When Rose and Tim entered the apartment, it was loud with the shouts of excited young girls. A phonogram was belting out a jaunty jazz record near the fireplace. Edgar's apartment was bigger than Rose's with a balcony and three bedrooms. Rose closed the door behind her and Liliana peaked her head up from the group of girls admiring each other's dresses. Her brown eyes immediately lit up, "Rose! You came!" She bounded across the room, bouncing with excitement, "And you brought me a gift! Can I open it?"

"Let's wait to do all the presents," Rose grinned, "Happy birthday, Liliana."

"Who is this?" The girl asked, her blue ribbon waving in her hair, "Is this your beau? Are you two going to get married?"

"This is Tim," Rose said, "And no, to answer your question. He's my friend."

"Nice to meet you," Tim stuck his hand out to Liliana. She stared at it for a moment before her small hand did it's best to grip his larger one, giving him a noodle-like shake.

"Rose, come talk fashion with my friends and I," Liliana lunged forward, grabbing Rose's wrist and giving her a tug, "Come on, come on!"

Tim took the gift bag from Rose's hand and grinned at her, "I'll put this away. You go talk fashion. The girls could learn something from you."

Rose laughed at this as she allowed Liliana to take her away from Tim, who headed for the table near the door cluttered in frilly presents. Liliana dragged Rose to a group of five eagerly awaiting girls, all dressed up and with make up applied in a bold way, "Everyone," Liliana announced, "this is my neighbor, Rose. She's one of the most fashionable people I know. She's even been to Paris," The girls 'oooh'ed' in envy as they gazed up at Rose. Rose was only three years older than these girls, yet the divide in their interests were wide, "Rose, can you tell us about the dress you're wearing?"

"Well," Rose clucked, glancing down at what she had on. It was a light green dress with short bell sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It had golden-yellow stitching along the sleeves and collar, and a loopy designed embellished over the mid-riff. It was a simple circle skirt that cut close to her legs, giving her a sleek and slender appearance, "I believe the brand is Shelly's," Rose gently tugged at the skirt, holding the fabric out. On cue, the girls began running their hands over it, genuinely curious in the texture, "I purchased it from a boutique on Anderson and Fifty-First, it's not unique. Any of one you could own it and wear it, too."

"No, no," A girl with brown hair shook her head, "we aren't tall enough to make this cut."

"You sound very knowledgable," Rose observed, looking over all of them.

"Rose," Liliana's brown eyes caught her's, "these girls and I started a sewing club at school. We are the real deal. We even have our own brand!"

"Really? What is it?" Rose asked, smiling at the thought of them sitting small behind large clunky sewing machines. She was glad the girls had an interest such as this, it seemed good for them.

"We call it Love Six," Liliana told her, "There's six of us who sew the garments and we do it with love."

"I'd say you're well on your way to becoming a major brand," Rose said, "I'd be happy to purchase some garments from you."

"Wow, a real customer!" A girl with ashen hair cooed, toying with the tulle frill on the cuff of her plaid dress.

The group of girls broke into shrill giggles. Rose laughed and glanced towards the kitchen archway to see Tim had met Edgar. The two men had a shallow glass of golden-brown whiskey in their hands. They were looking towards the group of girls, each with a warm smile. They seemed to be chuckling about something. Rose grinned, looking towards Tim, before slowly, her smile receded and she looked straight ahead at the wall.

Tim could so easily charm people into liking him. One look from those hazel eyes, a moment to soak in that olive complexion, had everyone enraptured. Rose felt a knot constrict in her belly as she remembered Jack and his similar talent. How simple it was from a tossle of blond hair to get his way. The way his tongue shifted his cigarette against his teeth. Those blue eyes. He was an enticing spirit. Rose gazed back towards Tim, whose eyes were already on her as he took a sip of whiskey. She suddenly realized why she had been so drawn to Tim. He had Jack's spirit.

Just then, Rose was drawn from her thoughts as someone called out, "Comin' through! It's time for cake! Liliana!" It was Edgar's eldest daughter, Suzette. She was even a few years older than Rose. She was a tall and willowly girl with long arms. She kept her dark brown hair short, combed into a bob that curled at her ears. It was easy to tell she was doing her best to fill the maternal shoes of the household for the sake of her father. Suzette was a good girl.

The group of girls stampeded towards the dining room table tucked under the large picture window in the living room. Each girl claimed a seat and leaned forward eagerly. It was a simple vanilla cake, round, with two layers. The cake was lathered in pink strawberry icing with whole strawberries accenting the edges with white piped icing. There was one lone candle lit in the center. It was simplistically pleasing. Liliana looked absolutely delighted.

The adults of the room now migrated to stand around the tables behind the girls. Edgar glanced amongst the friends that had gathered with a feeling of pride, "Well, are we ready to sing?"

"Wait, wait," Suzette pressed her slender fingers to her father's shoulder, "where's Cat?" Everyone peered around the room, "Oh, there you are. Don't you see us over here, Cat?" A girl with dark brown hair plaited into a braid sat curled up on the couch, reading a book.

"Yoo-hoo! Cat!" Liliana called. Finally the sister gave up on ignoring the calling voices and looked up, very displeased.

"We're singin' to Liliana," Suzette gestured to the table with arched eyebrows.

"I can sing from here," Cat protested, "I'm at a great scene. Eric is about confess his love-"

"Okay, okay," Liliana shook her head, scrunching her nose up at her sister, "This is my party!"

"Let's just sing," Edgar said, looking between both his girls. He raised his hands to his guest, "Happy Birthday..."

Everyone joined in and smiled at Liliana, who was happy to be the center of attention again. She seemed so at ease in the spotlight, smirking at everyone like she was a grand-thing to behold. Rose smiled at her adventurous spirit. Despite being tiring to deal with, Rose figured that would be a good thing for her in the future. She was certain Liliana wouldn't allow society's rules to pin her down. As Rose continued to sing, she slowly gazed over her shoulder towards Cat, still on the couch. She had returned to her book, completely ignoring everything around her. She clung to each last word on the page. Rose recognized that look all too well.

It was the look of trying to escape.

...

After the party, Tim and Rose decided to go for a walk that cool night. They walked side by side, slowly, as they had no destination in particular. They simply wandered the desserted night time streets of New York City. They both had their hands in the coats of their peacoat, gazing around as they walked. Rose's nose became a balbous red the further they continued.

"I can't thank you enough for coming with me today," Rose finally said, glancing at the side of Tim's face. He was nearly six inches taller than her, "I don't think I would have survived on my own."

Tim tilted his head back and let out a laugh, "Oh, Rose, you don't give yourself enough credit," He looked to her with rosy windblown cheeks, "You were great with the girls."

"But still," Rose smirked, "didn't you have something better to do than attend a stranger's fifteen year old birthday on your day off?"

"Well," Tim stopped walking. Rose continued a few more paces before pausing and turning to Tim, who had long shadows cast across him from the street lamp above, "I'm sure you've noticed I've been a bit sweet on you," He grinned, nearly sheepishly, shifting the weight between his feet, "I wanted to spend time with you, Rose. I really enjoyed today. Would you want to do something like this again?"

Rose felt her entire body heat up. Her peacoat suddenly felt too hot. A gust of wind came by, blowing some loose strands across her face. Her eyes remained on Tim, who as usual, looked confident. His entire career lay in being level-headed and meaning what he said. Every day Tim exuded this discipline. Rose bit down on her lip and glanced fleetingly to the sidewalk.

"I enjoy spending time with you, too, Tim," Rose finally said. She stepped closer to him, catching a gleam in his eye from the overhead light, "But... there are things about me... my past..." She sighed as she struggled to capture the words. Tim waited patiently, "There are things about me you should know," Rose finally forced out, looking intently at him, "They are things, though, I'm not ready to talk about. And... I don't think that's fair to you."

Tim's smile never faltered. He reached his gloved hand out, squeezing Rose's bicep, "I won't force you to talk about anything. We can spend our time together on your terms. Whatever happened to you; that's your business. You can talk about it if you want, but I understand if you don't. I like you, Rose. I enjoy your company."

Rose was quaking in his touch. Tears began to brim her eyes.

"You can think about it," Tim told her, "Like I said, on your terms."

Rose lowered her eyes as the tear streamed down her cheeks. She bit down on her lip and took in a deep breath. She hunched her shoulders for a moment before she looked up at Tim, nearly breathlessly, "I do want to see you again, Tim. When we're not on the clock."

Tim grinned, squeezing her arm again, "I'm glad you feel that way, Rose."


	4. Empty

Chapter Four

_November 8th, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

When Rose finally made it home from work, night time had already cascaded across the city. She staggered through the door with a paper bag of groceries balanced on her hip and fumbled for the lamp beside the door. The light softly illuminated the room and she looked around, almost expectingly. Rose let out a long sigh and hauled the groceries into the kitchen, putting everything away in the cupboards and ice box. She undressed from her dirty waitress uniform and hung it on the bathroom door. She'd have to wear it again tomorrow, she hadn't found time to wash her clothes. Rose sifted through her closet for something comfortable to wear and paused when she came across a men's white button up. Her slender fingers ran along the cotton sleeve slowly. She had it bought awhile back ago, to wear around the house. It was much too big on her, but it felt comforting. She liked to pretend it had belonged to Jack. She ripped the shirt down from the hanger and buttoned it up over her, heading back towards the living room.

Rose parted the curtains and gazed up at the array of stars scattered across the sky. She pushed the window open to allow the crisp cool breeze of autumn to waft into her apartment. She then lit a few candles on the coffee table, precariously balancing them on books, and seated herself criss-cross on the floor in front of the table. She folded her hands together, pressing her elbows to the table. Her eyes lingered on the folder in front of her that had flickering shadows licking across it. Rose opened the folder and gazed down on the birth certificate once more. The only document she had allowed herself to read. She couldn't even begin to guess what else lay beneath the birth certificate. She closed the folder just as fast, the wind of the cover causing a candle to waver before becoming steady again.

Tears filled her eyes and she lowered her head. Her salty tears dripped off the end of her nose as she choked on her sorrow in the middle of her living room. She rubbed furiously at her eyes as they became scorchingly red and hot. Her lips quivered as she looked towards the window, outwards to the sky.

_Where to, Miss?_

"To the stars..." Rose whispered, her voice cracking. She took in a deep uneven breath, her lungs rattling as still, the tears continued down her flushed face, "Happy birthday, Jack," She said, her lips barely moving. Her eyes came to rest on a candle flickering in front of her and she sighed all over again, "I know it's your birthday... and I don't want to spoil such a precious day, but Jack," She shook her head, fresh tears brimming her eyes, "I'm still angry. I'm still sad. I'm still asking all these questions," Rose grabbed the candle and pulled it close to her. She then stood and walked to the window, looking out while cradling the flame in her palms, "Why did _I _survive? What made me so special compared to you? You're a masterpiece compared to me. I've always been nothing but a mess, a catatonic shell. But you? You could take the weight of the world on your shoulders and feel no burden at all. You were a perfect human-being. Why did you have to die?" She set the candle on the windowsill and leaned against the cool wall, looking down on the dark street, "It's so unfair..." She muttered, her tear stained cheeks taut, "You'd probably laugh at me... tell me that's the way it is. Life is unfair. You'd say, "c'est la vie", and that'd be the end of the problem."

She pressed her back flat to the wall, gazing around her dark, lonely apartment, "You were so special," She continued in a volume no louder than a whisper, "You were the answer to every thing wrong in my life, Jack. Why did you have to go?" She lowered her eyes to the carpet, "In the three days I knew you... how could you possibly impact me this much? It's absolutely maddening," She pressed her hand to her forehead, nearly feverently, "You haunt me. Three days, seventy-two hours, that's all it took, Jack," Slowly, she pushed away from the wall and took small steps in no particular direction. She took the time to let her feet sink against the plush carpet beneath her.

Rose sighed and stopped again, now standing behind the couch. She tilted her back to look towards the ceiling, "If I could see you one more time, I don't even know what I would say to you. I feel like there's so much I need to tell you. A lifetime wouldn't have even been long enough for us, Jack. I would give anything to hear your voice one more time... your laugh..." Her voice faltered again as fresh tears sprung to her eyes. Rose staggered into the back of the couch, pressing her sticky palms to her hot face, "Your damned smile... those blue eyes... oh, Jack," Her chest began rising and falling, "Who am I kidding? I'm not fooling anybody, acting like I'm just fine. I can't even convince myself. Jack, I'm not okay. I really am not. Without you, I'm not sure I'll ever feel okay again," She felt her throat constrict, her vocal cords throbbing unpleasantly. She slid down against the side of the couch, thunking onto her knees on the ground. Her shoulders deflated and she resigned to allowing her arms to fall limp in her lap.

She took in a deep breath, her eyes glued to the carpet. Rose huffed, blinking rapidly, as finally the tears began to dry. She fidgeted absent-mindedly at the hem of her button-up, feeling absolutely pathetic and meek in that moment. Rose lifted her eyes to stare ahead, towards the front door. She focused intently, trying to will a knock. She tried to imagine Jack at her door, announcing his presence. But, the apartment remained still and quiet.

Rose finally decided to get to her feet. She closed the window, feeling absolutely sapped of all energy. She blew all the candles out except for one. Slowly, her slender fingers came down and grasped the warm glass, lifting it to eye level. She admired the flame licking up and down before she sighed again, "Happy Birthday, Jack..." Rose then blew the candle out, encasing herself in darkness.

...

_December 1st, 1912_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose barrelled through the door to the diner, flinging her hair from her face, which had snowflakes caught in the curls. She let out a sign of relief as she entered the quiet and warm restaraunt, securely closing the door behind her. The sun was just beginning to rise on the frozen city. Rose's cheeks and nose were balbous red as she pressed her hands against the cool glass, watching a frenzy of leaves dance through the intersection.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Came a deep chuckle from behind. Rose let out a screech, pressing herself against the door in fright, looking towards the voice with wide green eyes. She relaxed, however, when she realized it was simply Winston in a red and black plaid shirt, tucked into green slacks. His face was covered in white fuzz, which looked to Rose to be batting for a quilt. He was wheezing with laughter, pulling the fuzz from his face, "Did I scare ya? Sorry, doll. How do you like my St. Nicholas get-up?"

"It's... very festive," Rose said, a crooked grin spreading across her face.

"Ah, just the word I was going for," Winston looked pleased as he arranged the fuzz over his face again, "This is what I'm going to look like for the rest of December. Well, at least until we make it to Christmas."

"That's not itchy?" Rose cocked an eyebrow up.

"As all get-out," Winston chuckled, "I want to get people in the mood, though! The holiday spirit always makes people spend more."

Rose laughed, brushing past Winston and going behind the bar to pour herself some coffee. Garlands hung festively from the ceiling and along the edge of the bar. It made the entire diner smell like pine trees. Deep inside, her stomach tossed and turned as the aroma reminded her of Jack. Of Wisconsin. Of everything she had lost. She held her hands steady as she drank her coffee, eager to feel something warm inside of her chilled body.

"So," Winston said, drawing Rose away from the coffee maker. She turned to face him now. He had discarded his fake beard on the bar and was leaned up against it with his typical good-natured smile, "how have you been enjoyin' ol' tall, dark, and handsome?"

Rose lowered her eyes for a few moments. Her and Tim actually hadn't spent anymore time together since her neighbor's birthday. She still saw him every day, but she hadn't further intiated anything. Rose was certain Tim was growing tired waiting for her. She nearly hoped he would move on. She wasn't ready to give herself away so quickly again. She wasn't ready to confront all the skeletons in her closet. She knew if she progressed with Tim, those things would have to come out. She was nervous at the thought of releasing those inner demons. Rose was certain they needed to remain locked deep into the pits of her heart.

Winston's smile had receded now as he looked at his employee, "You haven't seen him again outside of work, have you?" Rose resorted to simply shaking her head. Winston sighed, glancing towards the vacant diner. He rounded the bar and came beside Rose, wrapping his arm around her wiry shoulders and pulling her in close, "You know I care about you, right?"

"Of course, Winston," Rose said, her eyes still glued to her coffee.

"And you know I would never try to pry, right?"

"Yes," Rose nodded stiffly again.

"I worry about you sometimes, Rose," Winston looked towards the dark windows as the sun had yet to make an appearance for the day, "Ever since you've started workin' here, you haven't once come to a co-worker's party or dinner. There's a wall, I can feel it. I don't know what brought you to New York City... I don't know if you ran away from something, but I feel like you did. You're hiding from the entire world, doll. It breaks my heart seeing someone as young as you already feeling defeated. You have so much potential and you're letting it wither away right in front of you."

Rose's throat closed and pulsated uncomfortably. She was trembling in Winston's arms. She watched the ripples run across her coffee. Slowly, she lifted her wet eyes to look at Winston, "I'm still running, it feels like."

"What can I do to help?" Winston asked, "How do I fix this?"

Rose shook her head, "I... don't know. Don't you think I wouldn't seem this way if I knew how? Every day, I just feeling this terrible- dreadful- feeling. Like something is missing."

"And what's missing?" Winston pressed.

Rose closed her eyes, her heart beating wildly in her chest. For the first time in eight months, she was about to speak his name to somebody else. She exhaled unevenly and looked directly at Winston, "His name was Jack... Jack Dawson."

"Your husband?" Winston asked, cocking a bushy eyebrow up.

"No," Rose shook her head, "he wasn't."

"Brother?"

"No," Rose said again, "he was just... very dear to me. He saved my life, Winston."

"Well, where is he now?" Winston asked.

Rose looked out to the empty diner, her eyes resting on the booth Tim would be occupying in the next hour. Finally, she looked back to her boss.

"He's dead."


	5. Let Go

Chapter Five

_February 14th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

New York City was chilly that evening. Rose had all the windows in her apartment opened, as usual, as she lounged on the couch, a book in her hands. She had her stocking feet resting on top of another stack of books on the coffee table as she read by candlelight. It was a book about the Civil War, which she didn't realize had been so fascinating. She had been on the couch since she had gotten home from work, completely lost in the words.

She twirled a curl absently around her finger, biting on her lip, as she read about Abraham Lincoln's role, recalling details that aligned with the biography she had read about him. Rose released her curl and turned the page to a picture showing what a Union Officer's uniform looked like. She brought the book closer, turning it slightly, to get a better look at the fancy cuffs and many belts.

Just then, there was a rap on her door, startling her. She glanced towards the orange and sherbert sky before setting the book down and curiously peering at the door. The knock came again. Rose brushed her hair back from her face as she went to the door and opened it. Greeting her in the hallway was Tim, in a black three-piece suit, with a bouquet of red, pink, and yellow roses in hand. He had a big grin on his face. Her face only displayed surprise.

"Tim!" She finally found her voice.

"Happy birthday, Rose!" Tim said, holding the flowers out to her. She took them into her hands, the smell of fresh leaves wafting towards her.

"How... how did you know?" Rose asked, her face becoming beet red. She almost matched the flowers.

"I asked Winston," Tim chuckled, "I was just curious. It's very suiting you're a Valentine's baby, though, with hair the color of a heart."

Rose grinned bashfully, "You came all the way here to give me roses?"

"Well, I was also going to ask if I could take you out to dinner," Tim replied, "It _is_ your birthday, after all. It's worth celebrating."

Rose's entire body felt like it had been set on fire. She shifted the weight between her stocking feet and looked to the roses in her arms. She didn't quite know where Tim lived, but knew it wasn't exactly in the neighborhood. She felt dearly touched that he had worked all day and still had the energy to seek her out. Rose looked back to Tim, who was waiting so patiently, with his ever-present smile. He had his hands dug into the pockets of his pants and he swayed back and forth, as if he was smitten with her. Rose had never encountered anybody who had a crush on her before. In the next moment, Rose found herself smiling at Tim.

"That sounds nice," Rose nodded, "Why don't you come inside and wait while I get ready?"

...

Tim took Rose towards the heart of the city. The buildings were the tallest there and populated with the most cars she had ever seen at once. Despite it being cold and getting late, many people were out and about on the streets, looking for fun that Valentine's Day. Rose had her hair pinned against her head, allowing a few strands to frame her face. She opted for a dark green and black velvet dress, the nicest thing she owned that was appropriate for a fancy dinner. Even though Rose had lived in New York City for nearly a year, she had only been to true downtown a few times. She was mesmerized by the lights, the people, the atmosphere. Tim enjoyed watching her more than any of the people around them.

Rose paused on a curb, admiring a shiny black car. Tim stopped and turned towards her with a grin, "Do you like cars?"

"This one is especially nice," Rose told him, walking along the side of the sleek vehicle, "I love the pin stripes. Very sophisticated," She laughed at herself and Tim joined in.

"Ever driven one?" He asked.

"No, never," Rose shook her head, "I've only ridden in them."

The couple continued side by side down the path. Rose nervously glanced to the side of Tim's face, his glasses gleaming in the street lamps. He seemed so at ease, so composed. She wondered how he could manage to be happy all the time. She considered maybe he was simply a good actor. He exuded confidence, however, and always seemed to be at the top of his game, constantly aware.

"Right here," Tim pulled her from her thoughts, pointing towards a brick building on the corner of the block, "Myron's Steakhouse."

Rose stopped walking, looking up at the sign. She then glanced to the nicely dressed people lingering outside, smoking cigarettes and chatting. Sheepishly, she hugged herself and looked to Tim, "Here? This looks expensive, Tim."

"Hey, hey," Tim shook his head, coming closer to her. She could smell his aroma. He smelled like sandalwood. It was rather intoxicating and a refreshing difference, "it's your birthday! Why would you worry about cost? I'm certainly not worried. There's no price that's too much for you, Rose."

The warm tingly feeling began to invade her body again and she shivered in the night time as she gazed into his hazel eyes, "Looks like there might be a long wait."

Tim chuckled, "I actually made reservations this morning. I was feeling lucky."

Rose let out an airy and nervous laugh at the thought. On the inside, she was completely floored. It was as if Tim Calvert could predict anything. He could read her like an open book. It also showed just how confident he was, just how much she meant to him. Something was beginning to turn in her chest as she looked up at the lawyer. Her heart felt like it was quivering in her body.

"Shall we?" Tim asked.

Rose glanced towards the shiny gold doors beneath the patio, seeing into a warm dimly lit restaraunt that was packed window to window, every table filled with bobbing heads. The chatter from inside could be heard through the glass. Rose grinned at Tim and reached for his arm. She could tell she caught him off-guard, but he quickly adapted, bringing his arm further out to allow her to link to him. His arm felt so large in her hands. He felt sturdy.

Tim guided her inside and sure enough, there was a table for two waiting for the Calvert party. Rose glanced around at the dark red wallpaper, the large crystal chandeliers, the freshly pressed linens. It nearly reminded her of her old life, but she continually told herself it was different. It wasn't stuffy or aristrocratic. It was normal, she convinced herself. Tim and Rose were seated at a circular table in front of a large window with a nice view onto the street. Tim pulled Rose's chair out for her and then shrugged out of his coat, draping it over the back of his own chair. He looked sharp and smart in his simple black vest. He ordered them an entire bottle of cabarnet. It arrived in a bucket of ice with an ivory linen wrapped around it.

Tim smiled, admiring the label, before he popped the cork and poured them two glasses, "I love Myron's. It's one the few classy restaraunts you can get wine from France. Do you like wine?"

"Oh, very much so," Rose replied, eagerly watching him pour the dark red wine. She could nearly taste the tart dry alcohol on her lips already, "How'd you know?"

"Had a feeling," Tim handed her wine glass towards her. Their fingers brushed against each other as she accepted it. Rose felt a jolt of electricity between their skin as she took her first sip. She grinned as it slid down her throat, warming her. She blushed, however, when she noticed Tim was simply watching her. She let out a content sigh and swirled her wine as she looked around.

"Thanks for bringing me here, Tim," Rose said, looking back towards her date, "I can't even begin to express how nice of you this was. I had completely forgotten it was my birthday, actually."

"You're joking!" Tim arched his eyebrows, drinking his wine, "You're telling me that you have no one else around here who would remember?"

"No," Rose shook her head, "none of my family lives near me."

"That's unfortunate," Tim replied, setting his glass on the table and leaning forward. He was soaking in every word Rose breathed. She could tell, by his eyes, that she was the only thing he was focused on and thinking about. She felt her cheeks glowing hotly, "As you know, I come from a large family. Family is everything to me."

"That sounds nice..." Rose sighed, drinking more wine. The ends of her fingertips were beginning to tingle, "To be honest, I didn't have much family growing up. And the ones I did... we didn't get along very well."

"Were you an only child?" Tim slowly picked his glass up, but awaited her response.

"I was," Rose confirmed with a nod of the head, "Grew up all by myself."

"The horror," Tim took a swig of wine and pulled the bottle out of the ice. He gestured to Rose with it and she grinned, holding her glass out to him to refill, "I can't imagine how quiet your house was. You had your own bedroom?" Rose nodded and Tim laughed openly and warmly, "I shared a bedroom with my older sister and my youngest, Maggie and Kate."

"Did you grow up here in New York?" Rose asked, leaning against her chair. She felt so at ease with Tim. Something about him felt safe. Warm. Comforting. She found herself enamored by the feeling he gave her. Rose hadn't felt something like this in awhile. Nearly an entire year had passed since somebody had evoked this strange, foreign feeling, that even left her baffled when with Jack. It was something Cal had never brought forth, or any man for that matter, before that fateful night in April of 1912. Rose shuddered at the thought.

"I did," Tim replied, "North of New York City, in Tarrytown. My parents still live in my childhood home with three of my sisters."

"Do you see them often?"

"Maybe every couple of months," Tim tilted his head to the side for a moment and then took a drink of wine, licking his lips, "We write consistently, though. What about you? You said something about family in Wisconsin, right?"

Rose grew cold at the question. She drank some wine to stall herself and then shrugged sheepishly, "More like... family friends," She said, "They're not really family," It felt weird referring to those cold bureaucrats she dealt with in Wisconsin as _friends._

"Well, family isn't always blood," Tim shrugged, "Where did you grow up?"

"In Philidelphia," Rose replied.

"Do your parents still live there?" Tim asked.

"Actually, my father passed away in 1909," Rose told him, not at all even bothered by it anymore. She hadn't thought about her father since 1911.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Rose grinned, surprising Tim, "It was his time. My mother, however, still lives in Philidelphia, but... we don't talk."

Tim reached across the table, pressing his warm palm to her forearm. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass upon feeling his energy tingle her skin. She slowly looked up to his hazel eyes, shimmering in the dim overhead lighting, "I don't like to think you're all alone, Rose. That's not right, it's not fair. There are thousands of people living in New York City. You need someone."

"And you..." Rose said slowly, "want to be that someone?"

Tim grinned crookedly and sat up straight, bringing his hand back to his wine glass. He topped their drinks off and put the bottle back in the bucket of ice, "I'm not very good at coming across as sleek and mysterious, am I?" He laughed at himself, drinking more wine cooly, "I suppose I make it very obvious that I like you quite a bit."

"Can I ask why?" Rose cocked a bold brow up, "Why me? The waitress at your local diner? The girl, who you know, carries a lot of baggage?" She paused for a moment, bringing her hand up to cradle her head, "You're a great guy, Tim. You're well put-together, your life is organized, you have a steady and successful career... I'm... I'm no where near your level of functioning. Why do you like _me_?"

Tim glanced out the window for a moment, "One thing I've always believed to be true in life is that you can't judge someone for the life they live. It's about who they are. That's what has always made me mad about the society we live in. All this labeling of first class, second, third... what's the point? We're all human and there's something special about each one of us. I looked at you and I saw something special, simple as that."

Rose lowered her glass slowly, her green eyes shimmering in the light. Her mouth was pursed in an 'o' shape as she looked at Tim, nearly quaking in her seat. She finally regained composure and swallowed roughly, "I agree with everything you said. And..." Rose reached across the table, setting her slender hands atop Tim's, "That really means a lot to me, Tim."

...

The moon was directly overhead, hidden by shallow cloud cover, as Tim and Rose walked towards Rose's apartment from Myron's. It had been the best wine and dine Rose had had in awhile. She couldn't remember being so carefree for an evening, able to take her inner troubles off like it was no more than a coat. There had been a brief rain during their dinner and the streetlights gleamed in the puddles.

Rose was wearing Tim's jacket as the rain had really cooled the city down. Their breaths trailed behind them in the frigid air as they made it to the top of the hill where Rose's apartment was. They stepped into the dimly lit lobby and took a moment to breath.

"I cannot thank you enough," Rose was the first to speak, turning towards him. She looked much smaller in his jacket. It made him grin at the sight of it, "I really had a great time, Tim."

"I'm glad," Tim replied warmly, "I feel the same way. I really hope we can do this again, Rose."

"We will," Rose said with a smile, "And I promise to follow-up this time."

Tim laughed, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck, his face and hair windblown, "Oh, by the way," He blinked suddenly, looking to Rose, "how old did you turn today?"

Rose smirked, "Eighteen."

"Well, happy birthday, Rose," He nodded to her. Tim took his glasses off and wiped them of speckles of rain before putting them back on the bridge of his nose, "I'll see you tomorrow at the diner?"

"Mhm," Rose replied, "I'll have your coffee ready."

Tim looked towards the lobby doors, leading back to the dark windy night. He shifted the weight between his feet for a moment before he looked back to Rose. He set his hand on her shoulder and dipped his head down, gently pressing his lips to Rose's. She was almost surprised for a moment, but pushed back within just a few moments. She brought her cold hand up to gently touch his cheek as they shared a firm but passionate kiss. Slowly, their lips parted.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," He whispered before leaving.

Rose watched his silouette disappear from sight before she began her walk down the hallway. As she fumbled to find her key ring, she realized she was still wearing Tim's jacket. She paused in the dark corridor and slowly brought the cuff to her nose, inhaling. Sandalwood. She grinned to herself as she continued for her apartment door. As she jammed the key in the lock, she thought to her kiss with Tim. It felt good, but something felt... different. When she closed her eyes, she was almost expecting the texture of Jack's lips, but Tim's were no where near similar. She staggered through the door of her apartment and flicked the light on, kicking the door shut behind her.

Rose crossed the living room to stand at the window. Tim was no where to be seen on the street. He had disappeared into the night. She turned towards her collection of books, casting long shadows across the living room walls. Something about that kiss was different, but she just couldn't pin point it. She didn't know if she _liked _the difference or not. But something about it electrified her in a way Jack didn't. The two men evoked two separate feelings in her. Rose thunked down onto a chair and huffed, sagging her shoulders.

Tim was not Jack. Rose had to remind herself that. There was no more Jack.


	6. Rafters

Chapter Six

_March 3rd, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The sounds of clattering paint cans and a screaming frustrated man awoke Jack. His eyes popped open and he yawned widely, rubbing his face, not at all concerned with all the ruckus beneath his bedroom. He sat up and rubbed his bare shoulder sorely, cursing his springy mattress. Jack raked his hands through his hair and swung his legs to the side of the bed. He rubbed his eyes again, not at all a morning person.

"Jack! Jack! Get down here!"

Jack sighed and stood, taking his time picking his clothes. He opted for a light blue button up and tan slacks. He glanced at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall above his wash basin. He fingered his hair into place and reached for the suspenders dangling over the back of his brass bed frame. He had just got his shirt tucked in and was clamping the first half of the suspenders, when he heard a thunking of boots coming up the straight and narrow stairwell that lead only to his room, the attic. The door flew open. Standing there was a man wearing a mustard yellow smock and light green pants. He thought he was trendy, but Jack didn't quite agree. He always wore a black beret over his dark brown hair that was showing the early stages of gray at the roots. His trendy-look, however, was spoiled by the splatter of red paint up his right pant leg. Jack grinned at the sight of the trembling man. He continued his task.

"Mornin', Frenchie," Jack said, his eyes focused on the clamp of his suspender, "Did you run into those paint cans I warned you about last night? You know," Jack looked at him with a smirk, "the ones we just mixed?"

"This is a disaster!" Frenchie declared in his typical melodramatic way, "First of all, how will I get this stain out of these pants? They're soiled. And second of all, I _needed _the red for today! Jack, you gotta mix more for me while I work on 'Duvet'. As soon as the red is properly mixed, I'll go right back to the 'The Autumn Night'."

Jack set his hands on his hips, knitting his eyebrows together, "Don't you want the paint to sit first and then have a re-mix? That's your preference, remember?"

"No time for your logical thinking, Jack," Frenchie waved his hand dismissively, "'The Autumn Night' has to make it to Lord Farris' house by the end of the week, no exceptions. He's having a social this weekend and the residency manager for the _Museum of Art _here in New York will be there! Do you realize how monumental that is, Jack?" Frenchie sighed at the thought, "I could _finally _get a block in the museum, even if it's just for a little awhile."

"Well, hold on," Jack held his hand up, "why are you stressing so much over 'The Autumn Night'? There are other completed or near completed paintings-"

"No, no, they're not good enough, Jack," Frenchie sighed, "Whose art studio is this?"

Jack sighed and grinned, knowing Frenchie all too well. The man had become a dear friend to him and, in a lot of ways, had saved him. Jack had been in the hospital from April to November. Due to a large amount of sick people, Jack was forced to leave, deemed healthy enough. He was easily prone to fevers and fatigue and had only enough money for cheap sleezy hotel rooms buried beneath the city skyline. Jack had been desperate for a job and had stumbled across Frenchie's ad in a newspaper for an assistant. Jack was eager and Frenchie had hired him on the spot. After learning of what Jack had been through, he offered him the small attic room, since it was unused. Jack had been there for the past three months and was indeed humbled. The two men worked well together, however. Jack was a precise and calculating artist and balanced out the frenzied and over-ambitious Frenchie.

"I know, it's yours," Jack nodded, his smile never wavering, "Just tryin' to help you out."

"You can help me by mixing me more red paint," Frenchie clapped his hands together, "Chop-chop, let's get to it. I still need you to trace out 'Lady Red' so I can prepare to paint that tomorrow for Miss Clark. So, actually, make it a double batch of red."

...

Jack sat in the back part of the studio where the few large, loud, and clunky industrial machines Frenchie was able to afford were. He was hunched over on a stool, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had flecks of paint stuck to his face as he used a stick to mix a large bucket of paint, praying for the right shade.

As he stirred the paint, his face softened, watching the red glisten in the light pouring in through the tall industrial windows. It was almost the same color as Rose's curls. He nearly wanted to stick his hand into the paint, as if to grasp for the texture of her silken hair. Jack ground his teeth together and cursed under his breath. The slightest things reminded him of her. It had been nearly a year and, still, he could not get over her. His survivor's guilt had subsided, but the pain had never gone away. He hated thinking back on the nights he lost sleep thinking about what he could have done differently to ensure she had lived, to be certain they had never lost sight of each other in the panic and chaos. There was only one tangible thing he had left from his brief time with Rose. Her obituary. He had stumbled across it in the newspaper. The only reason he cut it out was because it had a picture of her, taken only a year before the _Titanic. _She was wearing a short sleeve dress, her hair free around her shoulders. And she was smiling. That was the most important thing to him. He kept it taped to the wall beside his bed and gazed at it frequently.

The sound of shoes scuffing on the concrete floors drew Jack from his thoughts. He felt his shoulders tense. Slowly, his blue eyes peaked over his shoulder. Standing in the doorway was a slim girl, wearing a light grey dress. She had long wavy blonde hair that she always wore down. Her eyes were an exuberant blue. She grinned when she saw Jack and leaned against the doorframe.

"Oh, hey, Iris," Jack sat up straight now, "Come to work on some art?"

"Yeah," Iris giggled, coming into the room, her hands clapsed behind her back, "I thought maybe some of my artistic energy would rub off on my brother, so he can finish that painting for the party. It'd be a really great thing for him, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded, straightening his back out and taking a breath from his stirring, "He's just workin' himself like a dog. You and I both know great art cannot be rushed."

"Oh, Jack," Iris laughed, placing her hand on his shoulder, "you're just the person to help my poor dear brother out, who has it set in his eyes to cover this whole world in his art."

"Well, we gotta pay the bills, right," Jack teased, making Iris break into giggles again. Jack nodded his head at her, "What's he doin' out there?"

"Working on a painting," Iris grinned, "and trying to convince himself that maybe he can do 'The Autumn Night' _without _red."

"What!" Jack came to his feet, letting the stir stick sink into the paint, "No, is he insane! This is good enough, let me take it to him before he makes a crazy choice," Jack picked the paint up, staggering a few feet. He held his breath as he lugged it through the steel doorway and into the main area of the studio. It had tall ceilings with rafters and big windows that could be wheeled open on a pulley, "Frenchie!" Jack's voice echoed.

The artist lifted his head from inspecting a bucket of hunter green paint.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked, stopping in place, the bucket of paint swinging at his side.

"Is the red done? Oh, thank heavens," Frenchie sighed, putting the lid back on the can. Iris was laughing again as she walked towards the large community table, where her art portfolio and charcoal pencils were waiting.

"You were seriously considering dropping the red from a scene of _autumn_?" Jack set the bucket of paint down in front of the painting, "We live in a state that turns red every year! Frenchie, you gotta take a breath, man. Please. For the sake of art?"

Frenchie did as he was told, probably because he was appeased by finally being brought red paint. He looked to Jack with serious brown eyes, "Thank you. Now move. This has to be done!"

Jack grinned and stepped aside as Frenchie pulled a long bundled up tarp out and pulled the paint bucket over to it. He set his hands on his hips and looked around the canvas for a few moments before he nodded and grabbed a clean brush, sopping it in fresh paint. Jack turned to look towards Iris, who was gazing at him with great admiration.

...

Jack and Iris decided to head towards the industrial side of town to pick up more supplies for the frazzled Frenchie, who was beginning to murmer under his breath as he desperately painted to finish all of his current commissions. The afternoon was warm with a cool breeze, just right where they didn't have to wear jackets. Jack was glad. The cold now reared something ugly upon his once healthy body. Beside him, nearly six inches shorter, was Iris, carrying a bag full of new paint brushes. Jack had cluttered in his arms paint thinner and primary colors.

"Do you think he'll finish?" She asked, casting her blue eyes towards him.

Jack smirked at the question as they stood on a street corner waiting to pass. Many horse drawn carriages rolled by, hauling feeder, salt, and other materials. The industrial part of New York City was right along the wide open river that trailed along New York City to Manhattan. The duo could distantly hears the washing of waves and squawks of seagulls.

"Knowing Frenchie, he will," Jack peered down on her, "It always seems like he bites off more than he can chew, but somehow, he pulls it off."

"You know," Iris shifted the bag of paint brushes to her other hip, "Mama is really happy you're working at the studio with Frenchie. With you helping take some of the load off, Frenchie can actually come home from dinner. Mama likes it when we're both there with her eating."

Jack and Iris began across the street. Jack was grinning as he stared forward at the approaching sidewalk, his hair blowing across his forehead, "Well, it's a two-way street. Frenchie gives me somewhere to live in exchange. What better place than my natural habitat?"

Iris giggled at the thought, "I saw a painting that you're working on in the studio."

"What?" Jack's head snapped towards her, "Where?"

"You have it tucked behind the piping by the furnance in the storage room," Iris said, looking at him with arched eyebrows, "Why do you hide it? It looked to be of a beautiful woman with bright red hair."

"It's Frenchie's studio," Jack shrugged, the painting running through his mind, "I don't want him to think I'm horsin' around when I could be getting his things ready."

"Oh, he wouldn't think that," Iris clucked her tongue, "Frenchie has said he's never seen your art. Why do you hide that from him? When we get back, I'm pulling it out and showing it to Frenchie, okay?"

"Do we really have to?" Jack asked, knitting his eyebrows together as the sun shone across his face in between two buildings.

"Yes, we have to!" Iris demanded, "Jack it was exquisite work. Had you painted her before?"

Jack licked his lips and glanced towards the cracked sidewalk as they continued towards the studio. He blinked for a moment, "I drew her once."

"Just once? And you remembered all that detail?" Iris sounded so surprised, "How long ago was this? Recent?"

"Almost a year now," Jack shrugged.

"Hmmm, I'm suspecting she was a past lover, huh?" Iris grinned. When she looked to Jack, though, he didn't at all seem sheepish. If anything, he looked gravely sorrowful. He glanced towards the sky for a moment.

"She was my one true love," He said slowly, "She was the only girl for me."

"Where is she now?" Iris asked.

"She's dead."


	7. Three-Hundred Sixty-Five Days

Chapter Seven

_April 14th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

When Rose opened her eyes, the sound of the Atlantic Ocean was washing through her ears. She could hear the frazzled clatter of shoes to the deck. She could hear screaming, crying, praying. The noises caused her entire body to shudder and she turned on her side, facing the window that had light streaming through it. Another night and yet another dream about the _Titanic_. She could recall the smell of fresh flowers on the tables, the way the smooth glossy woodwork felt along her hand. She saw the grand staircase with it's large bubble-like window and she heard her heels echo on the freshly polished terrazzo flooring. But what frustrated her the most was she never saw Jack. She saw all kinds of fleeting faces, but none were of the most important passenger aboard that vessel.

One whole year, she couldn't believe it. It'd be an entire year since she had last seen him, touched him, kissed him... She balled the quilt up in her hand, pulling it closer to her. Rose's body ached, it quivered. It longed for Jack. In that moment, she was prisoner to every memory she had captured in her mind of him. Tears came out of her eyes freely, she didn't stop them. She allowed the tears to soak into her goosedown pillow, trying her hardest to also muffle the sound of her sobs. She pressed her face into the pillow, willing herself to catch her breath. Rose turned of her back, pressing her palms to her eyes and exhaling unevenly.

_Pull it together, _she told herself, running her fingernails through her curls splayed around her on the pillows, _Stop crying, dammit._

Rose sat up in bed, clutching the quilts to her oversized button-up. The apartment was quiet, save for the antique grandfather's clock she had found in a store. It ticked faithfully in the hallway, filling the presence of time into the apartment. It was a reminder Rose dearly needed. Rose pulled her robe on and went towards the kitchen, tying the sash over her crinkled shirt. She set the tea kettle on the stove and opened the curtains and window to a beautiful day, not much unlike that fateful day a year ago.

She sighed as she turned to gaze around her apartment. Rose happened to have the entire day off and she knew she would have to find something to do. But what? What would keep her the most occupied? Rose crossed to her desk and leaned over the back of chair, examining the pages of the short story splayed everywhere. She decided she would write. Quickly, she went to the kitchen and fixed herself of ginger tea, ideas already buzzing through her mind. Rose swept her hair into a messy bun and didn't even bother with dressing for the day. She thunked down in her seat, bundling her robe around her, and readying her fingers at the keys.

...

Jack slowly awoke to a ray of sun across his face from the window. He had forgotten to close his curtains the night before. He squinted against the light and turned the other direction, facing the wall. He let out a long sigh, knowing he needed to get up, but he simply didn't feel like it. April 12th had been looming on his horizon for awhile and now the dark clouds were directly overhead. Luckily, Frenchie was not coming in today. He and Iris were spending the day with their mother.

Jack finally cracked his eyes open to look at the grainy wood in front him. He rubbed his face and sniffled, tilting his head back on his thin pillow. Slowly, his eyes gazed further and further up the wall before stopping on Rose's face. He let out a sigh and reached for the paper, carefully plucking it from the wall. He lowered it just above his eyes and stared intently at her.

"A whole year, Rose..." He whispered, his voice husky with sleep, "Three-hundred and sixty five days without you," He cracked a weak smile, "I didn't think I'd survive, but look at me."

Jack stared at the picture of her, examining the details he had seen hundreds of times before. This was how she engraved into his mind. Happy. Carefree. Ready. That's how he would always remember her. As a girl who had bark, who wasn't afraid to reach for what she wanted. He panged with regret, however, at the thought of maybe making her go too far.

"I wish I could hear your voice," Jack felt a lump grow in his throat, "I almost wish you would yell at me, tell me all of this was my fault. You told me to leave you alone..." He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, "I should have known better, that I could have a woman like you. Either someone would take you away... or life itself, to keep you from me."

Jack's eyes grew wet and tears welled into the corners. He blinked rapidly, Rose's face growing bleary, "Why did _you _have to be the one that died? You had so much to give this world, Rose," He sighed unevenly, bringing the picture closer, "You were more than you ever thought you were. There was so much fight in you, I saw it..."

He lowered the picture to his bare chest and closed his eyes, "There was so much I didn't get to tell you... and I'm scared the same goes for you."

...

Rose decided to take a break over her own writing and take a book to the nice garden cafe a few street blocks over. It was a quaint little restaraunt and she liked every soup and sandwich she had ever tried there. It was realtively quiet most of the time, so Rose liked to go for a big salad and sandwich to have while she read. She found it comforting and a nice escape from reality.

The day was brisk and the wind felt good against her back as she went down the street, a book on George Washington tucked under her arm. It felt good to stretch her legs. She had been cramped up in her writing chair for nearly four hours, but had made substantial work on her short stories. She hoped to someday share them with somebody, but for now, she kept them secure under a desk weight shaped like a dove.

Rose turned a corner and just down the hill, she caught snippets of the gleaming river leading towards Manhattan. She could just barely see the neighboring city over the industrial part of town. She descended the hill and crossed the street, entering a small brick building covered in ivy leaves and accented with quaint black shutters.

There were a few people in for a quiet afternoon lunch, but there were many vacant tables. Rose chose the one closest to the door, beneath a large picture window. She ordered a cobb salad and a tuna fish sandwich, along with a cup of lemonade. As soon as the waitress left her table, she immediately cracked open her book, hungrily diving into the words, her environment sinking away from her. Because she was so fascinated with her book, she didn't notice the stranger gazing at her from across the diner.

Sitting along the opposite wall was Iris, Frenchie, and their mother, Irene. They had been served their soups and sandwiches not long ago. When the door opened, it was normal for everyone's eyes to wander over to the distraction. But when Iris set her eyes on the red headed woman in the buttercup yellow dress, something about her made Iris stop.

Slowly, Iris lowered her sterling spoon to the lip of her bowl, peering intently over someone's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the woman. She looked so familiar, she thought, as she gazed at the side of her face, where a few red curls framed the corner of her eye. The waitress brought the woman a cup of lemonade and she turned her face fully in Iris' direction. Those bright green eyes, those full pink lips, it had to be-

"Iris, what are you gawking at?" Her mother tore through her train of thought. The blonde girl immediately bucked up, looking back towards her family.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mama," Iris breathed, stirring her tomato soup, "Just thought I saw someone I knew..." She carefully peaked over her shoulder again at the red headed woman, sipping lemonade and bobbing her knee while she read. It had to be the girl in the painting. Iris knew it.

...

Frenchie and Irene decided to walk home for the evening. Iris detached from the group, claiming she had to grab some art supplies from the studio. She held her coat closed as the gusty evening breezed picked up as night descended. She fumbled for her own key to the studio and quietly let herself in, hoping not to let the door echo through the empty space. The main working are was lit. She figured Jack was still awake. Iris took a moment to finger her hair back into place. She glanced around the work space for a moment.

"Jack?" She whispered, her voice carrying through the garage. The back hallway leading to the machinery room was dark. Slowly, Iris took a few steps further into the room and called a bit louder, "Jack?" Her voice echoed through the empty room. She heard a creak of a door, however, towards the narrow and steep staircase leading to the attic.

"Iris?" It was Jack's voice coming down the stairs.

"It's me," Iris crossed to the bottom of the staircase, staring up at his silouette that had light pouring all around, "I need to talk to you. May I come up?"

"Is everything OK?"

"Yes, fine," Iris nodded, "I just need to talk to you."

"Alright, you can come up," Jack disappeared from the door. Iris glanced towards the studio for a moment before she began up the creaky stairs. Her heels felt so loud against each board. She thought she would never make it to the top. She entered Jack's room and stopped in the doorway.

It wasn't a large room by any means, but had enough space for a bed, a wash basin, a dresser, and a desk. A small water closet could be found towards the back, below some low hanging rafters. Jack was sitting in a chair in front of his window, which was open, allowing the cool breeze in. He was smoking a cigarette, simply staring outside. The milky moonlight bathed his tan complexion. It was enough to knock the breath out of Iris.

"So, what's going on?" Jack asked, lowering the cigarette from his lips, his blue eyes sliding over towards her.

Iris lowered her eyes for a moment, "I saw someone today. Someone I recognized."

"Who?"

"That girl," Iris said, looking directly at him, "from your paintings. The one with red hair. I saw her today, Jack. You told me she was dead."

Jack was to his feet in an instant, holding the cigarette down by his side. Every muscle was stiff in his body, his eyes only focused on Iris, "What are you talking about?"

"I saw her," Iris repeated, "at a cafe nearby where Frenchie, Mama, and I were. She came in to eat. She had that long curly red hair, those green eyes. You painted her so photo-realistic, I recognized her immediately on spot. She was reading a book and eating alone."

"It can't be," Jack's voice rose unsteadily, "She died, Iris. Her obituary is tacked on my wall. They buried her."

"I know what I saw!" Iris snapped back, curling her hands into fists, "It was her, Jack. Go see for yourself. It was Albert's Garden Cafe, on Forty-Second."

"No, it couldn't have been," Jack shook his head, throwing his cigarette out the window, "you just saw another red head, I promise you."

Iris looked to him angrily, "It was her!" And with that, she slammed the door behind her, not caring if her heels thundered down the steps. Jack's face was hard as stone as he looked at the door. Iris had to be playing a cruel joke on him. She had to know it was the anniversary. He let out an aggravated scoff and threw himself back in his chair, lighting another cigarette.


	8. Missed Connections

Chapter Eight

_April 15th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The sound of Jack's creaky bedroom door opening drew him awake. Slowly, he cocked his head over his shoulder to see Iris standing in the door, two mugs of coffee in hand. Jack rubbed his face and sat up on his elbow, glancing towards the clock. It wasn't even seven in the morning yet. Frenchie wasn't due to be in for another hour. Jack looked to Iris who still only stood by the door, not moving in the least. Jack reached along the side of his bed, grabbing the dark red button-up he had discarded last night. He pulled it on over himself, buttoning only half the shirt. Groggily, he looked to Iris again, cocking his eyebrows up.

The pale girl shuffled in place for a moment before coming just a few more inches into the room, "I... wanted to apologize," She said very softly. She finally found the will to cross the room and offer him his mug. Jack shifted on his squeaky bed and accepted the mug, still only looking at her, "I acted far too frivilously last night," Iris told him, thumbing at the lip of her mug, "I should have thought more rationally about it... taken more time to absorb what I was going to tell you."

Jack took a slow drink of his coffee, his blue eyes piercing her, making her nervous yet enamored at the same time. He lowered his mug and licked his lips, "Did you really see her?"

"I think I did," Iris nodded, "But now... I'm just not certain. You just don't see too many vibrant red heads. I could have sworn..." She shook her head and released a curt breath, "Either way, I'm sorry. I know she's a painful topic and I barged in on your day off and-"

"You said she was alone?" Jack asked, holding his mug in his lap.

Iris paused, "Yes, she was."

Jack looked to his window for a moment and let out a long sigh, "Tell Frenchie I'm takin' the afternoon off."

...

Rose left the library, tucking a small list of recommendations from the kind librarian into her small black leather clutch. She went down the tall steps towards the sidewalk, holding her olive green dress up as she went. It was turning into a comfortably warm afternoon. Rose had gotten off early since she had volunteered to go in at the break of dawn to prep for a catering gig. She found herself hungry as she dawdled at the base of the steps. She glanced to the many people brushing past her, continuing with their day.

Rose decided to head in the direction of her apartment. She would be passing her favorite little cafe and figured two days in a row would be a nice treat to herself, especially on two days that were so hurtful in the past. As Rose walked, she took the time to withdraw into her thoughts.

She thought about where she had been a year ago on April 15th. Awakening on the _Carpathia _in a large mess hall that been rearranged to act as an infirmary. She remembered the confusion that plagued her, the smell of sick people, the constant hum of chatting, crying babies, and sobbing. The room had been insufferably hot because of the amount of people packed gut-to-elbow. Rose's insides were searingly cold, however, her skin was covered in sweat. Her head had felt heavy as lead and her limbs would not follow her brains commands. Just thinking about that first breath in a conscious state of mind made Rose ache terribly. The memories of waking up on the _Carpathia _were the darkest of the ones she remembered. At least when the _Titanic _was sinking, she had Jack. But she had awoken without anybody. Not even her mother or Cal. She was completely alone, sick, and hurt.

Rose swallowed a growing lump in her throat as she turned a street corner. She had to remind herself she had survived, she had moved on. That sick, hurtful, lonely feeling couldn't grab her anymore. She wouldn't let it. She let out a sigh through her flared nostrils as she tried to convince herself the dates on the calendar would soon become meaningless. But she knew she was lying. The month of April evoked so much inside of her and the thoughts of Jack were ever-more present.

_Would he be happy for me right now...? _Rose thought distantly, as she walked without even paying the slightest attention, _Living on my own, just for me? Destination unknown in life... _She wondered what 1913 would have had in stock for Jack if his life hadn't ended so short. She liked to think he would have found a promising entry into the real art world, instead of continuing to live beneath it in his portfolio. She liked to think he would have been ambitious, craving of a new year, especially being back in America. _What was he going to do once he got back here? _She wondered, knitting her eyebrows together, _Did he ever tell me?_

Just then, Rose heard her name being called. She perked up and turned around, untensing when she saw Tim jogging up behind her, swinging his briefcase at his side, "Rose! That _is _you! I thought that red hair belonged to you," He smiled.

"Tim, what a pleasant surprise," Rose grinned.

"What a stroke of luck to find you over here."

"I was just at the library," Rose told him.

"Ah, I should have guessed. Are you off for the rest of the day?" Tim asked, rather eagerly.

"Yes, I was just on my way to have lunch and-"

"Let me take you out, my treat," Tim said.

"Oh, really?" Rose asked with arched eyebrows, "I mean, if you're not too busy, sure, I'd love to catch lunch with you."

"Great, I know just the place," Tim seemed pleased. He wrapped his arm around Rose's shoulder, pulling her against him as they started walking, "I was beginning to miss you!"

Rose chuckled and looked up to his hazel eyes, "I saw you this morning at work."

"That was nearly five hours ago!" Tim threw his head back and laughed. Rose melted into the sound.

...

Jack sat against the far wall, opposite of the door, at Albert's Garden Cafe. Sitting in front of him was a chicken salad sandwich, but it had been left untouched, along with his Coca-Cola. He had his elbows on the table, his hands clapsed into fists hovering in front of his mouth. He bobbed his knee impatiently as he looked around the cafe. Only six other patrons occupied the small diner, eating quietly together, the clanging of silverware faint.

His waitress had been eyeing him oddly. She had brought Jack his sandwich nearly twenty-five minutes ago. She was sure it had grown stiff. She left him be, however, because he seemed rather preoccupied with his mind. Jack's blue eyes darted everywhere. To the decorations on the walls, to the uneven floorboards, and constantly towards the door, even when no one had entered.

Jack sighed and pressed his palms flat to the table, looking at his lonely lunch in front of him. He took a hesitant sip of the soda and then reached for the sandwich, deciding that at least while he was there, he'd better make it worth while. The chicken salad was delicious with hints of pickle juice. He suddenly found himself hungry. But still, his eyes looked obsessively around the foreign diner. He had walked past it many times, but had never stopped in.

Could Iris have been right? Had Rose really been in this diner only the day before? He lowered his sandwich and carelessly wiped the crumbs from his lips, contemplating. Jack didn't want to get his hopes up. He always wished to so desperately believe Rose was alive, but seeing the obituary, not finding her name or seeing her body, he just didn't think it was possible. Rose was his lightening in a jar and he knew lightening never struck in the same place twice.

The front door swung open and the afternoon light bled into the room. Hurriedly, Jack turned his head to see who was entering. It was Iris. Jack sighed and set his sandwich down, sinking into his chair. Iris looked around the diner for a moment before spotting Jack and crossing to sit with him. The waitress immediately attended to her, but Iris only ordered a water with lemon.

"She hasn't been here, I'm guessing..." Iris said, twirling her straw in her drink.

"No," Jack's eyes were on his discarded lunch.

"I'm sorry I even said something," Iris sighed, "It was wrong-"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Jack, I know you're angry with-"

"Iris," Jack's eyes lifted to meet her's, "I don't want to talk about it."

And with that, he stood and left, leaving the rest of his lunch behind. Iris sighed and cradled her head in her hand. She felt horrible. Jack was obviously in pain, trying to get over what had happened, and yet, she had crashed through and opened all his wounds again. Iris gazed towards the door longingly, willing that red headed girl to appear for her, but no one else entered. Iris looked out the windows, towards the river not far beyond. She had made a mistake. But she was determined to make things right with Jack again.

...

Tim picked a patio restaraunt that was down a winding hill. The restaraunt sat right on the water. Tim and Rose had a small circular iron garden table along the railing beside the river. Rose honestly had never been so close to it before and found herself gazing at it quite frequently. Tim only had reports left to write in his office, so he ordered them a bottle of white moscato and a small platter of a variety of finger sandwiches. He sat back in his chair and watched Rose, who was mesmerized by the wide flowing river beside them. Her hair was against her head, some wisps free in the wind. There was a small smile present on her lips.

Tim was drawn away from her as the waitress brought them what they ordered. He set about to pouring their wine. Rose grinned enticingly at the sandwiches and grabbed a cucumber one for herself, "Thanks again for lunch, Tim."

"My pleasure," Tim replied, handing her the wine glass. Her fingers gingerly wrapped around the thin stem, "This was a better ending to my day, by far. My plan really was just to go stay in my office and pick dinner up on the way home and maybe listen to the radio," He laughed at himself, "I'm rather boring, don't you think?"

"No, not at all," Rose sipped her wine and shook her head, "You're actually very fun. I have a grand time with you, Tim."

Tim smiled as a gust of wind came over the balcony, sweeping his dark blue tie askew across his coat. He didn't care. He chuckled a little, adjusting his glasses on his nose, "I feel the same way with you, Rose."

Rose glanced to the river, drinking a bit more of her wine. The sound of the water surprisingly soothed her. Before it had always been painful. She looked back to Tim, whose eyes had never left her. He swirled his wine absent mindedly in his hand, all the while looking at her. She felt comforted by his gaze. She could tell it was adoration, not lust. It was that look and feeling she had craved to feel in the past year. Rose found herself mesmerized by it.

"Hey, this weekend," Tim leaned forward on the table, setting his wine glass down, "would you like to go to Tarrytown with me? I could take you out on the old country roads, where it's just hills and trees. I have a great treat to make it all the worth while. Would you like to go?"

"Tarrytown?" Rose echoed, "Where your parents live?"

"Yes, we'd just drop by momentarily so I could pick the treat up for you."

"What treat?" Rose laughed now, her cheeks heating up, "Do you want me to meet your parents?"

"Well, partly, but they're not the treat," Tim shook his head.

"Wait- you _do _want me to meet your parents?" Rose was nearly breathless, "Tim, what are you really saying?"

Tim grinned sheepishly and lowered his eyes momentarily to his wine glass. He looked to Rose boldly, "I want you to be my intended, Rose. My... my beloved. Will you?"

"Me? You... you want me?"

"I do," Tim reached his hand out, resting it atop her's, "What do you say, Rose?"

The way he said her name had her trembling. She grinned at him, her entire body radiating with warmth. Rose was sure her skin matched her hair as she gazed coyly across the table towards Tim, "I will," Rose nodded, "I'll be with you, Tim."

Tim breathed almost what seemed like a sigh of relief and his grin grew wide across his face. He raised Rose's hands up and gingerly pressed his lips to her knuckles. Rose's entire body shook as she stared directly at him, startled by the feeling he had awoken in her. Something about this felt right. Like it was her second chance. And she knew she could not let it pass her by.


	9. Perfect

Chapter Nine

_April 19th, 1913_  
_New York_

Rose watched New York City slowly descend into low residential housing crammed along the river's bend. The train bucked her back and forth as she looked out distantly towards the bridge connecting New York City together. She pressed her hand to the glass as she got a whole new look at the city she had lived in for the past year. New York City seemed as small as she was. Beside her, Tim was reading the newspaper, thumbing through the pages to find something of interest.

"You know, I haven't been out of New York City since I moved here," Rose said, finally drawing herself from the window. Tim lowered his newspaper and looked to her.

"Not even just to a neighboring town? Manhattan? Brooklyn? Coney Island?"

"Nope," Rose shook her head, "Just stayed in New York City."

"Well, then I'm glad I could whisk you away for a day," Tim leaned forward, pecking a kiss on Rose's cheeks, which grew warm, "I think you'll really like what I have in store for you."

"Will you pretty please tell me what the treat is?" Rose asked, pressing her hands together, "You have me so curious."

"You'll just have to wait," Tim chuckled, rustling his newspaper, "I think it's worth it."

"It better be," Rose told him and grinned, looking back out the window. The day was so beautiful and promising. She couldn't help but sneak another glance at the side of Tim's face. What did he have in mind for her? What could they possibly be up to that warm spring day?

...

_New York City, New York_

Jack laid a variety of brushes out on the table and eyed the tall canvas he had just sketched for Frenchie. It was going to be a scene of debutauntes. Jack looked back to the brushes and set his hands on his hips. Definitely some wide brushes for the background, but he would want much smaller paintbrushes for the debutauntes themselves. Jack muttered under his breath and looked under the table towards the shelves built into the bottom. No small paintbrushes. Surely they were in the backroom then. Jack stretched up and reached for the list in the center of the table. It was of the colors Frenchie had requested for the painting. Jack frowned at the description of ivory white and bubblegum pink. He'd be mixing paint for hours trying for those shades.

Just then the large red-painted iron door flung open and Frenchie came racing into the studio, a letter clutched in his hands. Iris followed him in slowly, smiling as she gazed after her brother who was racing towards the table where Jack was, stunned in place. Iris closed the door and sauntered towards the table, setting her hands on the dirty paint-smudged surface.

"Jack...!" Frenchie finally caught his breath, uncrumpling the letter hurriedly and fumbling to hand it over to Jack, "The residency manager _loved _my painting at Lord Farris' social! He's asked me to have a display of _fourteen _paintings for his art show in November! Can you believe it!?" Frenchie laughed wildly, banging his fist against the table and making the brushes jump.

"Well, that's plenty of time to prepare, at least," Jack said, looking up from the letter, "I'm happy for you, Frenchie. This will be great for you."

"Oh, Jack, you sly bastard," Frenchie chuckled and began rounding the table, his arms spread outward, "This is thanks to you, too, buddy! Without you, I would have never been able to get all of this done!" Frenchie lunged, wrapping his arms around Jack and pinning his arms to his side. He squeezed Jack tightly, making him wheeze, "You're the best art assistant someone could ask for!"

Jack laughed and untangled himself from Frenchie's grip, patting his shoulder, "We make a good team, Frenchie. By the way, I just finished sketching the debutaunte scene. Is this one you're interested in having for the show?"

"Oh, absolutely," Frenchie's eyes lit up and he turned towards the canvas with a hungry ambitious look, "Especially with the colors I'm fantasizing about."

"Yeah, they're gonna be great," Jack rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly, glancing at the master-level paint request list.

"Jack, I want to do fourteen _large _paintings for the show," Frenchie said, "This will be a monumental effort for November. I want you to help paint them yourself, too. Not just sketching, actually painting."

"Wow, really?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows, "You're sure?"

"Iris showed me that painting of the red headed girl," Frenchie shook his head, "By all means, you should have your own studio and assistant. I would love to have you work on some of my art."

Jack glanced to Iris who was nervous to meet his eyes. He nodded towards her before looking back to Frenchie, "Okay. Let's get this done."

...

_Tarrytown, New York_

From the train station, it wasn't a long walk to Tim's parent's house, which was an old white house with hunter green trimming and matching shutters, all percisely and freshly painted. The house had a large wrap-around porch with a garden swing in front of the large picture window beside the red front door. There was a white picket fence with a large oak tree enclosed within. It cast long shadows across the trimmed yard. It was quaint and modest.

"So, this is where you grew up?" Rose asked, glancing around the clean neighborhood.

"Yup, this is it," Tim nodded.

"This is very nice," Rose told him.

Tim pushed the gate open for Rose and they began up the cobblestone path leading towards the porch. They hadn't even made it to the steps yet before the front door when the screen door bounded open with a girl not much older than Rose came jogging out. She had the same olive skin and dark hair as Tim, with those matching hazel eyes.

"Tim!" She called, skipping down the stairs. A few moments later, a golden retriever was excitedly coming down the stairs. It ran straight to Tim, coming up on its hindlegs to lick him. The force of the dog nearly knocked Tim off his feet. He and his sister laughed together, while he rubbed the dogs head to qualm it, "I'd say Rocky missed you the most."

"Well, he _likes _sharing rooms with people," Tim teased, getting Rocky to lower himself back to the cobblestone, "Rose, this is my youngest sister, Kate. Kate, this is Rose."

"Oh, you're the one Momma was telling me about," Kate extended her hand to Rose and they shook, "It's great to finally meet you. Is that your natural hair color?" She asked with big hazel eyes.

"Yes, it is," Rose giggled, "I get asked that all the time, actually."

"It's goregous," Kate shook her head, "Momma didn't tell me you were coming by," She now looked back to her brother with arched eyebrows, "What're you doing here?"

"I'm just stopping by, taking Rose around," Tim said, "Where is Mom?"

"Her sewing room," Kate said, patting Rocky on the head as he panted beside her, "Does she know you're here?"

"She knew I was coming," Tim grinned, "I'm going to find her."

"Well, alright. I hope I get to see you again, Rose," Kate said, "I better take Rocky for a walk. I'll see you two later?"

"Maybe," Tim shrugged, brushing past his sister, "Are Lena or Penny home?"

"No, not right now," Kate replied, leading Rocky towards the gate, "They'll be home later."

Pleased, Tim gestured for Rose to follow him inside. She went up the creaky stairs and through the screen door. The house seemed very open, with few walls and many archways. It was furnished quite spaciously as well. The curtains were open, along with the windows, just how Rose liked it. The house smelled fresh, almost like salty ocean air.

"Her sewing room is this way," Tim said, glancing towards the kitchen, "I'm guessing my father is out fishing today."

As they walked down the hallway, Rose gazed to the dozens and dozens of photos hung on the wall. Many were of Tim and his sister's as children. An entire group of them in a variety of ways. Riding bikes. Posing on the sandy beach. Sitting on fences in order of age. It was charming. Rose wished she had had the comaraderie of siblings as a child.

"Mom?" Tim slowly peaked his head into the first room on the right. Rose gazed around him into the room which had many yards of different fabrics arranged on the counters of makeshift tables. An older woman with olive skin and dark brown hair was hunched over the desk. She was wearing a light blue and white striped dress with a purple apron on top. She perked up at the call of her name and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were green to Rose's surprise. The moment she saw her son, her face lit up and she was to her feet in a second, engulfing her son in a warm hug.

"Timothy!" She cried out, rubbing his back, "So good to see you, son!"

"Good to see you," Tim returned, drawing out of the hug, "Mom, this is Rose."

"Oh, so good to meet you," She had such a warm grin on her face as she took hold of Rose's hands, holding them tenderly in her own, "Timothy has told me a lot about you. You're right," She looked to her son who was turning redder by the moment, "she _does _look like an angel from those paintings."

"Mom, I told you that in confidence," Tim sheepishly adjusted his coat on his shoulders. Rose laughed breathily, trying not to quiver in her grip.

"You can call me Eileen. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Make yourself at home, please," Eileen said, running her thumb along the back of Rose's hands.

"Thank you," Rose nodded.

"Oh, we won't be staying long for the time being, remember?" Tim said, drawing Eileen away from Rose, "I'm here for the surprise."

"Right, right," Eileen waved her hand dismissvely, still grinning, "You know where to find everything. I won't keep you two waiting."

"Thanks, Mom," Tim dipped down, pecking her on the cheek, "I'll see you later."

"Be safe!" Eileen called, waving them out the door of the room. As they walked down the hallway, the sound of the sewing machine drew up again. Tim threw a glance towards Rose as they walked towards the kitchen. They seemed to be heading for the back door.

"I hope that wasn't too awkward," Tim said, adjusting his glasses.

"I like your mom," Rose giggled, "She's very nice."

"Well," Tim glanced around the house for a moment, pausing, "everything looks clean, so that could be why," He laughed now, pushing the back door open, "Come on. Let me show you the surprise," Tim held his hand out to Rose who smiled and accepted it, allowing herself to be lead into the backyard.

...

_New York City, New York_

Jack stood in the backroom, looking between his cluster of paint cans. He referenced the list Frenchie gave him and continued stewing in his mind. He shifted the weight back and forth on his feet and huffed, not quite sure which paint to start first. They would all take him hours, but which would be the most important first? Jack finally settled on ivory white. He knelt, rolling his sleeves and pulled a white paint bucket near him, prying the lid off.

A loud popping noise startled him, however. He dropped his tool and the paint lid to the ground and they clattered loudly. Jack looked over his shoulder with a thundering heart to see Frenchie in the doorway with a bottle of fizzy champagne and the biggest grin.

"Stop working!" Frenchie called, gesturing for him to follow, "Let's celebrate. It's still early enough."

"Oh, I dunno, Frenchie," Jack shook his head, still knelt between the paint cans, "These colors you want are going to take awhile. I better start them now."

"Pish-posh, come on!" Frenchie said, "As your boss, I demand you stop working."

Jack sighed and slowly straightened up. Frenchie disappeared back to the main work space and after a moment, Jack did, too. Frenchie was pouring the champagne into flute glasses on the dirty communal table and he smiled when Jack approached. Eagerly, Frenchie handed him a glass and held his up towards him.

"To the art show!" Frenchie cried.

Jack couldn't help but grin and clanged his glass gently to Frenchie's, "To art."

"Come, let's have a seat. Drink. Review. Plan," Frenchie shrugged and threw himself onto a stool. Jack glanced back towards the doorway where his impending work was, but eventually resigned himself to sitting down with Frenchie, "Well, actually, let's not talk shop. Let's talk, Jack."

"Alright," Jack nodded, drinking some of his champagne, "about what?"

"Well, just... how are you? How have you been? Sick at all?" Frenchie asked, already topping his champagne off.

"No, actually. Sleeping somewhere warm helps," Jack grinned weakly, "What about you? How's your family doing?"

"Oh, Mama seems so healthy," Frenchie smiled at the thought of his mother, "She's going for regular walks. I'm seeing she has an appetite again. I think she's finally come to terms with Papa's passing."

"That's good," Jack nodded, "Glad to hear that. Irene has always been so nice to me."

"Well, you have me home for dinner every day now," Frenchie chuckled. He cleared his throat and looked to Jack, "She really likes you, though. In fact, she thinks you'd be a great suitor for Iris."

"Iris?" Jack echoed, nearly choking on his champagne, "Me?"

"Are you that oblivious to it?" Frenchie almost laughed, "She fancies you, Jack!"

"Frenchie, that's your sister," Jack shook his head, "I... I couldn't."

"Oh, don't think of it like that," Frenchie waved his hand dismissively and poured himself some more champagne, topping Jack's off as well, "She's a grown woman now, Jack. And she needs someone. What better guy than you? An artist. You understand the family she comes from. We're all artists."

"I have absolutely nothing to offer," Jack replied blandly, "I live in the attic of your studio."

"You'd just move in with us," Frenchie shrugged, "You're practically already apart of this family."

"Look," Jack let out a curt sigh, "I'm flattered, but really, I don't see anything between Iris and I."

"But, why is that?" Frenchie pressed, leaning forward, "Jack... there's something you're not telling me. And I think it has something to do with that painting Iris showed me behind the furnance."

Jack lowered his eyes and swallowed roughly. His eyes followed a drip of condensation down the side of his glass. He finally made himself look to Frenchie, "Maybe there is," he croaked, "But I don't think I'll ever be ready to talk about it."

"Jack," Frenchie said quietly, "you're like a brother to me. Please, talk to me. Don't suffer in silence."

Jack drank some of his champagne roughly. Frenchie filled his glass, hoping it would help Jack speak up. Jack sighed and glanced towards the blank canvases lined up against the wall, waiting for his pencil strokes. He shifted in his creaky stool for a minute and looked back to Frenchie, who nudged his beret up to look at Jack.

"Her name was Rose," He finally said, his voice nearly faltering, "Rose DeWitt Bukater. That's who that girl is in that painting back there."

"Rose, now that's a name that matches," Frenchie remarked, "Where did you meet her?"

"On the _Titanic..._" Jack looked down at his hands that were nervously fidgeting with the stem of his glass. He scoffed at himself, shaking his head. He felt his eyes growing wet and he cursed himself, clearing his throat of the growing lump, "I only knew her for three days top, Frenchie. But she... she affected me. I can't get her out of my mind. She's everywhere I look, everywhere I go... She's in everything I do. She's with me, always, it feels like. I don't know how to make her away," He took a slow uneven breath, his eyes piercing Frenchie's, "I don't think I know if I want to make her go away, either."

"It's been an entire year and you still feel her presence that greatly?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows, "You haven't gone on any dates? Kissed another woman? Made love to anyone?" Jack only shook his head, his lips pursed tightly, a look of anguish flushing his face.

"No one could ever measure up to her," Jack said breathily.

"Jack, I think you need to hear this from me," Frenchie drank some champagne and looked to his friend, "I hate to state it bluntly, but you have to get over her. It's been over a year now and you know she's not coming back. You have this perfect image of her in your mind. She's not human to you anymore. She can do no wrong and will say only what you want her to. No one ever measures up because they're not perfect, like how you see Rose."

Jack bit down on his lip, absorbing what Frenchie just said.

"Now, I'm not saying my sister is ultimately the right one for you," Frenchie held his hand up, "But it may do you good to get out for once. And not just go out for art supplies, but go to lunch with someone and talk. Get some fresh air. Let the sun tan you again, you're getting pale as a ghost. I think my sister would simply be a good companion."

Jack glanced to Frenchie before throwing his head back and downing the rest of his champagne.

...

_Tarrytown, New York_

"It's just back here, in the alleyway," Tim told her. He was holding Rose's hand, towing her behind him. Rose glanced to the backyard of the family home. The grass was freshly trimmed. There was a tall shed to one corner and a forgotten swing set along the other end of the fenced in yard. It had been years, obviously, since anyone had used it. Tim swung the fence open and they stepped into the alleyway to a white shed that matched the house, "Alright," Tim grinned excitedly at her, "are you ready?"

"Yes, show me!" Rose nodded, "I've been waiting all day!"

Tim walked to the garage door of the shed and gave it a tug, hauling it upwards. Rose gasped when she saw what was sitting behind the door. It was a shiny black car with gold trim and even a gold grille. It had a small retractable roof over the top and a gleaming leather seat, big enough for two people. It was so clean, so spotless. Rose's mouth dopped open as she approached the car, gently touching the front of the hood.

"What is this?" Rose asked, looking to Tim in awe. He seemed rather proud of it.

"This is a 1910 Imperial Touring," Tim told her, "I bought this for my parents so they wouldn't have to walk to the market, but they barely use it because they don't want to hurt it. I think it needs attention, so I go for a drive every time I visit."

"This is how we're going through the country roads?"

"You didn't expect me to make you walk, did you?" Tim laughed and walked to the passenger side of the car, pulling the door open, "Shall we?" He offered his hand out to her. Rose smiled coyly with burning cheeks as she accepted his hand and sat down in the car. The cool leather against her skin evoked a memory in her. The last time she had been in a car was with Jack... She lowered her eyes and shook the thought away as Tim walked over to get behind the wheel.

The keys jangled as they turned in the ignition. The car came to life without much coaxing. It puttered and hummed. Tim grinned at the sound. He grabbed the gear stick and pushed it forward and slowly, the car began to roll. He pulled out onto the street and gave the car more gas. Rose's hair fluttered in the passing breeze as Tim left the neighborhood and turned onto a gravel road leading towards the growing hills. Tim set his arm on the door, seeming very relaxed behind the wheel. His tie was blown over his shoulder as the car climbed with ease, dust trailing behind them.

"Every time I drive this car, it makes me want to just take it back to New York City," Tim said loud enough to be heard over the wind. He grinned, glancing fleetingly at Rose before looking back to the bumpy road, "Can you believe we live in a time where we can get on four wheels and roll incredibly fast?"

"It's a genius invention, really," Rose agreed. Around them, slowly, the houses were melting away and either side of the road was now littered in trees. The branches were rejuvenated with fresh green leaves as spring awoken.

Suddenly, Tim pulled the car over on the side of the road. The tires crunched the gravel below as he came to a stop, pulling a brake lever out.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked, turning to Tim.

"You told me on your birthday you had never driven a car. Only ridden in one. I want to teach you how to drive, Rose," Tim told her with a smile.

"You're going to let me drive this car?" Rose was nearly floored, "It's so nice, Tim, and the paint-"

"Oh, spare me!" He broke into a rolling laughter, "You sound just like my parents. Come on, it's a machine. It's meant to be pushed a little. You won't leave a scratch," Tim didn't wait for a response. He threw his door open and leapt out. He pulled the roof back, securing it to the trunk of the car, "Here, so you have better visibility. Scoot over, get behind the wheel," Tim ordered as he snapped the roof in place. He then went to the passenger side and climbed in, "Okay," He took a breath, "do you have any knowledge on a car?"

Rose looked to the dashboard feeling completely overwhelmed. She shook her head and glanced to Tim, "Not the faintest idea."

"No problem," Tim grinned and scooted over closer to her to peer at the dash, "So, of course, here's your speed gauge. Tops out at 35, this thing is fast. Over here is the oil gauge. Tell me if it gets close to red, I have some extra oil in the trunk compartment. Now this is called an R-P-M guage. That just stands for revolutions per minute. The engine is pumping up and down in time with acceleration. You don't want to rev it too high before shifting gears. It overheats the engine."

"Are you sure I can do this?" Rose asked, gripping the thin steering wheel tightly.

"Yes, of course you can," Tim squeezed her arm, "You're right, though. I'm getting too technical. All you need to know is this stick shifts gears. The far left pedal is the clutch. Push that in before shifting gears. The center pedal is acceleration and the far right is brake. Got it?"

"Maybe," Rose said, gripping the top of the stick. She glanced to her feet fleetingly and pushed on the clutch, "Is it supposed to have this much resistance?" Rose asked as the pedal finally engaged.

"Yes," Tim nodded, "that's normal. Now push the stick into first and slowly give it gas while letting off the clutch."

Rose did as she was told and slowly, she began to edge towards the road, when the car suddenly stopped, bucking back and forth. She immediately slammed her foot on the brake and looked to Tim flabberghasted. He was smiling to her relief.

"It's okay. You just stalled it. It takes getting used to the clutch. Turn it on and try again."

Rose failed again and was growing frustrated with herself as she turned the keys and forced the engine to restart.

"Third time's a charm," Tim told her.

Rose focused this time and soon, the car was rolling. She was barely going five miles per hour, but she was giddy at the idea. Rose grinned, bouncing in her seat as she held the wheel steady, "Tim, I did it! I'm driving a car!"

"Give it some gas. Get into second gear," Tim encouraged, smiling and looking forward eagerly.

Rose pushed into the pedal and thought long and hard about her actions as she engaged the clutch, pushed the rod, and accelerated. The car bucked a bit, but she soon climbed over ten on the spedometer. Rose began laughing ferociously, holding the steering wheel confidently now.

"I'm doing it! I cannot believe I'm driving a car!" Rose was breathless as she cast a glance at Tim, "Thank you. So much. You have no idea how... _liberating _this feels."

"You know, I thought the same thing," He grinned at the side of Rose's face. The sun was streaming down on her between the canopy of trees, making her hair glow in the light. Her skin looked flawlessly radiant and her eyes were bright. He couldn't help but think about how goregous she was, especially when she was having fun, "Something about driving is wonderful."

"Why _don't_ you take the car back to New York City?" Rose asked, following a curve in the road. The trees were whizzing by now as she confidently gained speed.

Tim shrugged, "Honestly it's easier to walk in New York City. And besides, I have to get my exercise in somewhere. Like I said, I bought it for my parent's. It's a luxury we could never afford growing up as such a large family, so I simply wanted to return the favors they had done for me."

"Your family sounds so wonderful," Rose sighed longingly, "I wish I had a family like yours."

"You have mine now," Tim reached across the seat and set his hand tenderly on her thigh, "You don't have to be alone anymore, Rose."

Rose felt tears impending. Hurriedly, she used the last of her brain power to slow the car, pulling over the side of the road again. When she looked to Tim with her glossy eyes, they gleamed in the overhead light of the sun. Even when so upset, she looked like an angel. Tim sprang forward immediately, cupping her cheek with his hand. Her first thought was about how they were smooth, completely uncalloused. She recoiled for almost the slightest second and then held herself still.

"We can't be so quick to decide your family will just treat me like blood," Rose sniffled, "They need time to know me."

"Oh, but they already love you," Tim whisked a tear away and in the same movement, tucked a curl behind her ear, "Because I love you."

Tim leaned forward, grazing his fingers to her collarbone. He gently pressed his lips to her. Rose's entire body began to tingle as she pushed back against his lips. Distantly, birds tweeted and squirrels darted about, rustling the branches. But all Rose could focus on was the feeling of Tim's lips against her's. Her hands reached forward, surging through his dark locks. His hair was shorter cropped than Jack's, but felt silkier. Tim's hands slowly lowered to rest on her hips as their lips met again and again. Rose shut all her thoughts down, focusing on the wonderful feeling she had. But behind her eyes, there was an image she couldn't get rid of. And it was of Jack.


	10. A World of Hurt

Chapter Ten

_May 2nd, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

It was a fresh spring day in New York City. Rose had every window open in her apartment. She was sat at her writing desk, typing away, her keys echoing in her quiet living room. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes momentarily, willing herself to type the final words on the page. Rose slowly unmangled the paper from the typewriter, not even giving the words a second glance. She pulled a drawer open and withdrew an envelope. She then folded the paper in three and stuck the letter in. Rose took a deep breath as she licked the seal and pressed it flat. She flipped the envelope over and hurriedly scribbled, _To Jack #4._

Rose went to her bedroom and opened her night table drawer and with shaky hands set the envelope on top of three other matching ones. She stared at them for a brief moment before she shut the draw and let out an uneven breath, hugging herself. Over the course of the year, Rose had felt an overwhelming need to write to Jack, to tell him all the things she didn't get to say to him. And to ask questions she dearly wanted answers to.

She slowly wandered back to her living room and her eyes fell on the neglected folder she had travelled far and wide for. Still, she had only seen his birth certificate. Rose bit on her nail for a moment, glancing out to the beautiful day. She found herself moving towards the coffee table without even telling herself to. She pulled the folder into her hands and sunk onto the couch, shoving some books out of the way.

Rose didn't give it another thought. She tore the folder open and moved the birth certificate onto the couch beside her. Her heart thudded to a stop and she felt her entire body flush, as staring directly back at her, was a picture of Jack. He was much younger. It was dated 1904. It looked to be a school picture. Tears sprang to Rose's eyes as she raised the picture up to inspect it. It shook viciously in her hands. She set it aside, taking an uneven breath. The next picture was from 1905. It was Jack sitting between his parents. His mother had light hair, his father's was much darker. Her eyes darted between each face staring at her. Jack didn't resemble much of either of his parents, in her opinion. She moved the picture aside and now found herself frozen, her eyebrows knitted together.

It was a mugshot of Jack facing forwards and sideways, dated 1908, when he was just sixteen years old. Rose reached for the small leaflet paperclipped to the back of the mugshots. The paper was crinkly, old, and stained.

_Chippewa Falls Police Department_  
_ Case # 9028411_  
_ Arrested: John Cole Dawson_  
_ Wanted For: Theft of Food_  
_ Outcome: Served thirty-one days in Community Service_

Rose found herself grinning with tears streaking down her cheeks. Something about the situation seemed almost comical. He was arrested for wanting to eat. Rose sighed and set the mugshot aside, though she caught herself looking back towards it. Despite being a mugshot, it was a rather good photo of him. Rose grabbed hold of the picture again, putting the folder back on the coffee table. She stretched out across the couch, holding the mugshot above her. She smiled, with tears brimming her eyes, as she simply stared at him.

...

Jack stood at the top of a ladder, gently brushing a darkened white across the border of what would become the debutaunte scene. He leaned back momentarily, gripping the ladder, as his eyes hovered over all his pencil marks. He let out a long sigh when his eyes fell on the debutaunte sketched at the base of the stairs. He glanced to the paint buckets gathered at the feet of his ladder, spying the red can. He wanted to give all the debutantes red hair.

Just then, the studio door opened and Iris came through with her portfolio tucked under her arm. The heavy door swung shut behind her, echoing through the empty space. She looked around fleetingly, her braid thunking against her back, before she finally spotted Jack atop the ladder. Iris grinned and went to the communal work table, setting her portfolio down.

"Good morning, Jack. I see you're already working," She said.

"Yeah, figured I'd get a start," Jack nodded, climbing down the ladder and stepping back to inspect the border that was coming along. He set his hands on hips and slowly wandered towards the table with Iris, leaning against it, his eyes still glued to the canvas.

"Frenchie isn't feeling well today," Iris told him as she seated herself in a stool, gingerly grabbing a charcoal pencil, "He isn't coming in. Why don't you work on your own art instead? I like when you draw at the table with me."

"Well..." Jack looked over his shoulder, raking his hair from his face. Iris was smiling eagerly. His eyes momentarily darted to her opened portfolio to see the beginning sketches of flowers; the only art she liked to draw. Jack rubbed his neck sheepishly and nodded, "Alright. Let me go grab my portfolio."

When Jack had come back to the table, Iris was pulling two chilled Coca-Cola's out of the ice chest over by the door. She popped the caps off and handed one to Jack as they seated themselves across from each other. They sat in silence for a few moments before Jack found himself peaking up at her sketching hands from beneath his bangs. He watched her slender pinky bend outwards, smearing some charcoal on a petal to convey shadows.

"What kind of flower is that?" Jack asked, nodding his head.

"This," Iris lifted the portfolio up and turned it towards Jack, "is a chrysanthemum."

"A chrys-what?" Jack echoed, earning a giggle from Iris.

"Chrysanthemum," She repeated, "It means 'gold flower'."

"I've never seen one before," He smirked and looked back to his paper, slowly drawing a wavy line. They continued in silence for a bit longer. Jack cradled his head in his hand, getting mesmerized by the lines tracing from the tip of his pencil. He made line after line, shading as he went. His pencil gently curved to create a rounded cheek as slowly, his lines came to make sense.

"Are you drawing... her again?" Iris' voice cut straight through his concentration and he blinked rapidly, raising his eyes, memories floating away from him in that moment. Sheepishly, he looked to what his drawing was becoming. It was the first time he had ever seen her, in that white and yellow dressed, hair pinned back. She had been standing against the railing. Jack remembered gawking at her beauty, radiating as brightly as the sun that day, but he couldn't help but focus at the displeased look on her face. Her eyebrows scrunched together, her eyes searching the horizon for something, but finding nothing.

Jack swallowed a lump in his throat and looked at Iris, "Yeah. It's Rose."

Iris reached across the table and grabbed his portfolio, inspecting the drawing closely. She then turned to the next page and the next. It was all Rose. She was wearing different dresses, her hair sometimes down, sometimes piled atop her head, sometimes adorned with jewels between all her curls. But Jack had captured her personality in each one of her facial expressions. Iris had never been good at drawing people. She was envious of Jack's talents. But also jealous of the mysterious woman plaguing each page. Her bright blue eyes peered over the top of the portfolio, spying Jack, still as a statue.

"How long did you know her for? I'd say by the amount of detail and consistency," Iris laid the portfolio flat to the table, "it was for quite a while."

"Three days," Jack said, surprising Iris greatly.

"Three days?" She echoed incredulously, reaching for her soda, "And you say she's your true love? The only girl for you? From a span of three days?"

Jack placed his head back in his head and shrugged weakly, "I don't expect anybody to understand. I don't even understand myself how somebody could affect me this much in seventy-two hours."

"Why do you allow her ghost to hold you hostage like this?" Iris seemed hurt by his discontent. She could see he was stewing in his mind. She liked to think he wanted to do something about it, but he seemed unmotivated to clear his conscious of Rose.

"_She _doesn't hold me hostage," Jack pulled his portfolio back towards him to look at it, "I do it to myself, Iris. I can't help but think..." He shook his head.

"What?" Iris asked softly.

Jack sighed and raked his hands through his hair, "She was my only shot at true love, Iris. I've met so many people and none of them were like Rose. I'm scared I'll spend the rest of my life regretting what I lost."

Iris closed her portfolio and set her pencil down. She reached for her soda and finished it, scraping out of her stool and wandering into the empty space, her lavender dress flowing as she moved. She turned back towards Jack, "Come on. Let's go out."

"What? Where?"

"I don't know. Let's just go somewhere," Iris shrugged, "You can't spend all day locked up in this studio. The sun would do you some good. You're very pale. Come on."

Jack glanced back down to his portfolio for a moment before he slammed it shut and followed Iris out of the studio, to the beautiful spring day awaiting them.

...

Frenchie's words about his sister were echoing in Jack's mind as he and Iris strolled down the sidewalk on the edge of the industrial district. They turned off on a sidewalk that descended down a winding hill, the river growing closer. Iris had a smile on her face as they came to stand on a large chunk of concrete that had algae growing along the sides where the water had rushed up against it. There was a pleasant breeze that carried her braid in the wind, her hands clapsed behind her back as she watched the rolling waves of the wide river. She looked to Jack who had his hands dug in his pocket, his eyes also trained on the water.

"I like coming down here," Iris told him, "The water is so calming. This is where Frenchie and I would come for inspiration before his art took off and he became too busy. I usually come by myself, but," She let out a content sigh, looking towards the tall skyline in the distance, "I like sharing this space with others. It's so tranquil."

"I would have agreed with you a year ago," Jack's voice seemed husky, full of hurt, "But after the _Titanic_ I just see devastation when I see water."

Iris glanced towards her lacy flats for a moment before raising her eyes back to the river, "My Papa told me once that bad things will happen in this world. Some bad things we're in control of. But majority of bad things... we don't get a say in. All we can do is let them happen," Iris looked at the side of Jack's face, "But the most important thing to remember is that, though we don't seem to have control, we have control of ourselves. Our feelings, our thoughts. We're in charge of our own lives. And all we can do is survive," Iris smiled, "My Papa was very wise."

Jack removed his hands from his pocket, letting them dangle at his side, "I wasn't in control of the ship sinking... but I was in control of her safety, Iris. And... I just let her slip away. I lost her in a crowd. Even with that damned red hair, I couldn't see her or find her. I spent the rest of the sinking on my own, constantly looking for her. I was so bent up on getting to Rose again, I didn't care about my own safety. I lost control. And I'll never forgive myself."

"I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"I should have left her alone," Jack shook his head, "She told me to. But I didn't."

"What do you mean she told you to leave her alone?" Iris arched her eyebrows.

"She had a fiancé. She was due to be married when she came back to America," Jack's heart was thudding in his chest, "She was so unhappy, though, Iris. It was easy to see a mile away. In the end, she changed her mind, she said she wanted to be with me, get off the ship with me..." He closed his eyes painfully and longfully, "But I wish she hadn't changed her mind."

In the next moment, Iris wrapped her arms around Jack's torso, pressing her cheek to his chest. After a few seconds, Jack rest his arm on her shoulder stiffly. Iris squeezed him tightly. She could feel his bones quivering beneath her.

"I hate that you're so full of hurt," Iris said into his chest, "You're such a great person, Jack. I'd do anything to make your pain go away," She lifted her eyes to look at him, but he only gazed off into the distance, refusing to meet her eyes, "and so would Frenchie. We're here for you, Jack. We're your family. You don't have to go through this alone. _I'm _here for you."

She parted from Jack, her eyes never leaving his stoney face. He finally turned his eyes on her and she felt her body radiate with heat at the sight of his dazzling blue eyes, which were darker and much more exhilerating than her own.

"I know you two are," He nodded, "And I appreciate it. But sometimes..." Jack looked towards the distance at the towering buildings of New York City, "You just gotta go through it alone."


	11. Lucky

Chapter Eleven

_June 29th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack was knelt in the backroom of the studio, prying lids off of paint cans. He had to get working on creating a bubblegum pink exactly how Frenchie wanted it for the second large painting he had in mind, of women in loungewear laid out across velvet furniture. Jack pulled the white and red cans near to himself and rolled the sleeves on his dark red button-up that was tucked into his black corduroy pants. He let out a sigh before hauling the two paint cans up onto a counter. He crossed to a tack board and began collecting the few tools he would need to begin mixing. Jack decided to play it safe and make a small batch first. He turned from the tools and stopped in his tracks when he saw Iris had come into the backroom and was at the counter, peering around the cluttered mess he had left.

"Hey," She said, her face poking in between two paint cans from the opposite side.

"Hey," Jack greeted cooly, reaching for a small bucket and wiping it down. He then picked the red paint up and poured some along the side, giving the bucket a good shake, "what're you up to?" He asked, peering into the bucket and reaching for the white paint.

"Oh, I'm bored," Iris grinned, setting her chin in her hand, her elbow propped up on the counter, "Frenchie is busy sketching and muttering to himself about the twelve other paintings he has yet to come up with ideas for. I don't feel like drawing myself, so… I'm just wandering around, looking for something to do."

Jack was peering into his small bucket intently as he poured the white on top of the red. He reached in with a mixing stick and beat at the paint furiously, back and forth, his dirty hands gripping the rim. He grinned and looked towards Iris from beneath his blond bangs, "Well, would you mind grabbing some black paint off the shelf over there? This pink is way too bright."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Iris giggled and did a playful salute. Jack smirked, his eyes darting to her before back to the mixing stick in his hand, which was oozing with a bright pink paint, much more assaulting than what a wad of bubblegum looked like. Iris got onto her tip-toes and reached for the full bucket of paint. It was slightly heavier than she intended and she staggered for a moment before she corrected herself. She hauled the paint can onto the counter and sighed, "You and Frenchie make lifting these look so easy!"

Jack laughed breathily as he pried the lid off the top of the can, "Well, I reckon a paint can is at least a quarter of what you weigh."

"I'm not _that _small," Iris chuckled, leaning against the counter. Her eyes were bright and her grin was wide. Jack noted she seemed to be in rather high spirits that afternoon. He dribbled a bit of black paint into the bucket and stirred a little, before adding more white. He was so focused on the bucket, he was beginning to forget Iris was even there until she spoke again, "How long have you been doing art for, Jack?"

His eyes were still trained on his task at hand as he replied, "For as long as I can remember."

"I should have guessed," Iris grinned, absent-mindedly twiddling a chisel in her slender fingers, "You seem so at ease making art. I should have guessed you had been doing it for that long," She was silent for a moment, sneaking a glance at Jack who was preoccupied, his tongue just touching his lips as he checked the paint again, letting it dribble from the stick, "How old are you, Jack?"

"Twenty-one, now..." He muttered, deep in concentration.

"When's your birthday?" She asked eagerly.

"November 8th," Jack now turned his eyes on Iris, who was beaming, "When's yours?"

"January 4th."

"Happy late birthday," He chuckled, dropping a little more black into the mixture in the bucket, "How old did you turn?"

"Eighteen."

_She's Rose's age... _Jack thought as he gave a final beat in the bucket and leaned in, "I think this is what Frenchie is lookin' for..." He said, tilting it towards Iris, who craned her neck to peer inside.

"Oh, that looks nice, Jack," She grinned, "As usual."

"I'll let this sit for a few minutes," Jack crossed to the window, balancing the bucket up on the sill. He then turned and grabbed the green paint, hauling it onto the counter, "Now... for the hunter green," He was more of talking to himself at this point as he confidentally poured half the can into another bucket, reaching for the black after that.

Iris came around the counter, glancing to all the paint buckets queued up for Jack to work on. She knew he had been back here for majority of the morning, intently pouring and mixing, absolutely lost in his work. He hadn't even joined them for a break and a small snack, like he usually did. Recently, he had seemed very preoccupied. Iris could only guess it was because of Rose. She folded her hands behind her back and looked at Jack again, who was hunched over the bucket, not even paying the slightest attention to her.

"Jack, where are you from?" She asked, looking to the dirty windows.

Jack lifted his eyes for a moment, gazing across the room in front of him. He barely turned his head to peer over his shoulder where he could see Iris, "Wisconsin," He said, lowering his head again and working on the green paint.

"Is it pretty up there?" Iris asked, tilting her head back to allow the sun to sink into her skin.

"Lots of mountains," He replied, tilting the bucket back and forth, watching the paint ooze, "Tons of pine trees. I remember it always smelled so fresh. Well, at least compared to New York City," He smirked to himself. He finished the hunter green and took the bucket to sit next to the bubblegum pink. Jack reached for a rag and rubbed his smudged hands back and forth, turning to Iris, whose blond hair and blue eyes were accentuated in the bright lighting of the windows.

"We should go sometime," Iris told him, "Do you ever want to go back?"

Jack leaned against the window sill, crossing his arms over his chest, "I never think about it. There's nothing left for me there. I have no family. They're all dead."

"Even... your parents?" Her braid fell over her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side.

"Yeah," Jack nodded, "I lost them in 1905 to a fire. Lost the entire farm I grew up on, actually."

"Oh, Jack, that's terrible," Iris folded her hands together, "We should make an effort to invite you out to lunch with Mama. She loves taking care of people."

Jack grinned lop-sidedly and glanced to the floor for a fleeting moment, "That's alright. I'm used to not having a family. I haven't thought about it for awhile."

"I hate thinking of you so alone," Iris moved closer to Jack, her eyebrows arched upwards, "Do you feel like you have no one truly to talk to? You know you can always talk to me, right? It's better to get it all out, instead of bottling it up inside. You'll implode if you just let it build up."

"I'm fine," Jack shrugged, shaking his head, "Really, Iris."

"Are you sure?" She asked softly, now standing in front of him, "I want to believe you."

"I am," Jack nodded, "All we can do is take it day-by-day, right? I'm surviving, like I always have. Nothing has changed. And you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going anywhere."

Iris fidgeted with the cuff on her dress for a moment before she stepped closer to Jack. To his surprise, she placed her hands on his chest and tilted up on the balls of her feet, pressing her soft lips to Jack's. He was shocked for a moment as he felt her lips against his. His heart jolted in his chest and he immediately staggered away from Iris, knocking some paint cans over. They thundered loudly across the floor as Jack windmilled his arms, red paint splattering up his pants and speckling his shirt. He steady himself after a moment, standing in a puddle of oozing red paint. Jack's shoulders were rising and falling, his nostrils flared, as he glanced to Iris and then to the mess he had made. The red paint gleamed in the afternoon light as it ran across the floor, hungrily taking over any empty space it could. Jack's heart was thundering beneath his skin as he watched the red paint. It was such a deep and vibrant red. It was like seeing Rose's curls splayed across the couch cushions, flying in the wind, tickling his neck as he held her from behind. With glossy eyes, he looked back to Iris who looked startled, hurt, and bewildered.

"I'm... I'm sorry," She stuttered, her small frame shaking, "I-I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Your pants- Jack, I'm so sorry."

Jack panted as if he had just run a mile, he felt so breathless, stunned himself. He simply shook his head and took in a deep breath, "It's fine."

"No, it's not fine," Iris stepped towards him, carelessly putting her shoe into the mess on the floor, "I made you uncomfortable. I did something you didn't want me to do. I acted too rash. I'm sorry, Jack," Tears pricked her eyes now, "I just... I really like you, Jack."

"Why?" Jack shrugged and shook his head, still meekly standing in the paint puddle, "There's nothing to like about me. I'm just some tumbleweed blowing in the wind, too preoccupied to find some ground to latch on to. I don't even know where my mind is, Iris."

"There's more to you than that," Iris had tears falling down her cheeks now, "Why do you discredit yourself like that? I see what a wonderful person you are. Life isn't all about having money and nice clothes. It isn't about climbing the ladder and squashing everyone beneath you. I know you know that. You've never been like that. I like your carefree spirit. I like your talent. I like how comfortable you seem in your own skin. I like that..." She took an uneven breath, "even though everything goes wrong... you still find a reason to get out of bed in the morning."

Jack sighed and took a few steps in the paint, his shoes slopping more around him. He glanced to his dirty pants and reached up, rubbing some speckles that had reached his face, "Look, Iris," Jack finally said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice, but it was evident and Iris felt wildly stupid, "I'm flattered... but, you know where my mind is. I just..." He sighed all over again, "Just never mind. It's stupid. I'm sorry, I just don't have an explanation."

"But you do," Iris replied, "Just say it, Jack."

"It's not you, it's me," Jack looked directly at her, "I've been to over fifteen other countries. I've met the most interesting people, experienced many different cultures, foods, and seen the prettiest cities. And still, after everything I've experienced... it all leads back to her. To Rose. I can't just let her go, Iris. It's my burden to deal with, not your's. You can't fix this. Rose is everywhere I look. I blink and I see her face. She was unlike anybody I ever knew and... well, I don't know when I'll be done pining after her. I don't know if I'll go the grave thinking about that woman. She lit a fire in me. A fire I keep burning for her. I can't let her go. You're young. Find someone who isn't fucked up like I am, okay? I'm broken and there's no fixing this. Rose is in my mind, my soul. She's in my blood, Iris. I don't know how to get her out. She has a special place in my life and I'll spend the rest of my days wondering what I could have done differently. I'm prisoner to these thoughts and feelings, Iris. But I allow myself to be. It's just the way it is. And I'm sorry, but..." He shook his head, "I'm just sorry."

"You have so much promise," Iris' voice was shaky and uneven, "You could rule this world with your smarts, your wit, your attitude; you are a magnificent person. How could you allow yourself to sink this low?! Rose isn't coming back, Jack. Is this how you want to honor her memory? Being _miserable _like this?! Is this how Rose would want you to be?!"

"Don't," Jack's voice rose unsteadily, "say her name."

"If you believe in Heaven, don't you think she's up there right now watching you!?" Iris threw her fists at her side, her tears now falling angrily, "Don't you think she'd be disappointed you've allowed yourself to do this!? You're destroying yourself, Jack!"

"I'm not yours to fix!" Jack snapped back, "I'm _broken_, Iris! Do yourself a favor and find someone who isn't a mess like me!"

"How could you not expect me to fall in love with someone who makes such beautiful art! Your art reminds me of the kind my Papa and I would make in _his _studio. Before Frenchie ever had one! You're what I've been looking for, Jack. I care for you. I can't sit here and let you take yourself apart and wallow in your grief."

Jack threw his rag into the mess on the ground, his face tinging red, "I don't expect you to understand, okay! We don't choose who we love."

"Exactly!" Iris shouted, "We don't! Rose is gone, but I'm here now, Jack!"

"I'm not your responsibility," Jack said with a clenched jaw, "I'm not some project for you to work on, Iris. I'm a _burden._ I live in an attic, I'm a pathetic loser! You don't want me and you sure as hell don't need me. Got it?!" Jack kicked the empty paint can out of his way and staggered from the mess. Angrily, he pushed his shoes off and stormed out of the backroom, leaving a trembling Iris by herself.

...

_June 30th, 1913_  
_Tarrytown, New York_

Rose and Tim came through the white picket fence of his childhood home. She was wearing a short sleeve olive green dress with dark green leaves embroidered into the chest. Rose had a glass dish gathered in her arm. She glanced to it rather nervously as she followed Tim along the side of the house. The sound of music and chatter was becoming louder as they came around to the backyard. Many long tables were set up with gold and white linens spread across them, covered in food. Balloons of matching colors were tied to the end and waved in the wind. The smell of meat on a grill wafted Tim and Rose's direction as they came across the backyard social, pausing at the corner of the house. There were many people standing in groups, smiling and laughing. Dozens of others were gathered in chairs, sipping on drinks and chuckling with each other.

"I hope my cookies are okay..." Rose muttered to herself, glancing up at Tim, "I've never cooked them on my own before."

"I had one before we left, they're delicious," Tim assured her with a grin, "Besides, my parents will just be happy you're here. It's not about the cookies."

"How many years is it for your parents today?" Rose asked.

"Thirty-five," Tim told her, "Maggie didn't come along much longer after that. Then it was just a domino affect when the rest of us were born," He laughed at the idea, "My sister's are actually all together in a group over there," Tim pointed across the yard to the porch, where six girls were sitting and standing together on the stairs, each with a flute glass of champagne.

"So, that's all six of them?" Rose looked over towards the girls. Each one of them had the same olive complexion as Tim with brown hair. The genes were obviously strong with the Calvert family, "Who is who?"

"Well, you know Kate right there in the yellow dress. She's the youngest," Tim told her, "Beside her with the chin length hair is our oldest sister, Maggie. The two girls with braids are the sister's right behind me. They're twins. The one in the purple dress is Lena and the orange dress is Penny. And finally, the second youngest with her hair in a bun is Diana."

"Gosh, I hope they like me," Rose bit down on her lip for a moment.

"They're going to love you!" Tim took the cookies from Rose's arms, "Come on, let's go say hello to everyone," Tim pressed his hand to the small of Rose's back, guiding her further into the yard with him. They went directly to a large table. Tim set the cookies down and grabbed them both awaiting champagne.

"Timothy Calvert, is that you!?" Came a voice that resounded years of chain smoking. A man who was balding approached them, using a cane to walk. He had a round belly. He grinned as he approached the two, "It's been awhile, partner! You still livin' in New York City?"

"I am," Tim confirmed, shaking hands with the man, "It's good to see you, Mr. Longoria."

"Still a lawyer?" Mr. Longoria asked in his typical loud manner.

"Yes, sir."

"And whose this pretty little gal?" He asked, using his cane to gesture to small Rose standing beside Tim, "Don't tell me you got married and I didn't know!"

"No, no," Tim smiled and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "This is my beloved Rose."

"Glad to meet you, little lady," Mr. Longoria offered his hand out to Rose. She shook it daintily, "I'm a neighbor of the Calvert's, but back in the day, I was Timothy's rowing instructor in school."

"You didn't tell me you rowed," Rose grinned, looking to Tim.

"Oh, I think if he had kept at it, he would have been in the olympics!" Mr. Longoria boasted, "He was the best the team had."

"No, I wasn't that good," Tim smiled modestly, "It was more of for fun."

"Whatever you say, Timothy," Mr. Longoria chuckled airily, "I'll let you make your rounds and say hello. Rose, if you want any fun stories about Timothy's childhood, you know where to find me," Rose giggled at the thought as Tim linked their arms at their elbows and steered her towards the group of people sitting in the garden chairs near the alley. Rose recognized Eileen sitting in a chair beside another man who Tim was nearly the spitting image of. They even wore the same kind of glasses. Eileen spotted them first and her eyes lit up. She came to her feet, clasping her hands together.

"Timothy! Rose!" She squeezed between two chairs, throwing her arms around their necks and pulling them in, causing the couple to bonk their heads together, "So glad you could make it!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Mom," Tim pecked her on the cheek, "Hey, Dad," Tim leaned over his mother's shoulder, giving his father a curt but firm handshake, "Dad, I don't think you've met Rose before."

"Nope, but I sure have heard a lot about her," He grinned, shaking Rose's hand. He placed his other on top of her's tenderly, "So nice to meet you, Rose. My name is Dan. I have to say, I'm so glad you're seeing my boy. He needs a good girl to reign him in."

Tim rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly and laughed, glancing towards Rose, "Don't mind them, I think they've had a lot of wine to celebrate."

"We have!" Dan chuckled and Rose smiled at the friendly banter the family exchanged, "Help yourselves to anything. We have burgers on the grill right now. Plenty of dessert, too. Oh, and lots of wine and champagne, so please, dig in."

"Thank you," Rose nodded towards Tim's parents, "and happy anniversary. Thirty-five years, that's amazing."

"Oh, it's easy when you love them," Dan wrapped his arms around Eileen's shoulders, drawing her against him. She smiled warmly at her husband, squeezing his side. Rose grinned and her eyes darted away for the slightest moment. She took a deep breath, making sure her smile never wavered.

_Not now, please. Not here, _She begged her mind, anxiously clenching her hands for a second.

"Timothy, take Rose to your sister's. They've been dying to meet her. Kate has them all excited," Eileen told him, reaching for her wine glass on the arm of her chair, "Don't let them eat her alive, though. They're a rowdy bunch."

"I think I know that better than anyone here," Tim laughed, stepping away from the group so Eileen and Dan could go back to chatting with friends. Together, Rose and Tim began across the yard, but he paused, throwing his champagne down his throat, "Let's get another drink first. You're going to need it," He directed her towards the table where they chose white moscato this time, "Be prepared for a lot of questions. My sister's are nosy. They mean well, though."

Rose glanced towards the girls who were already sneaking looks at their brother and the mysterious girl with him. Tim drank more of his wine and licked his lips, looking down to Rose, "Are you ready for your interview, madam?" He jokingly asked, making Rose snicker. Together, the two walked over to the porch where the girls quieted down and turned their signature hazel eyes on Rose, "Hey, everyone."

"Good to see you, Tim," Maggie grinned, showing off the most beautiful smile, "Are you going to introduce us to your friend here? Kate has been telling us how lovely she is."

"Yes, yes," Tim shuffled his feet for a moment, "Everyone, this is Rose. I expect you to treat her like another sister."

"Wow, how did you know I always wanted another sister?" Lena laughed from where she sat on the steps. Rose smiled between all the girls. She already felt welcomed.

...

Rose found herself in the kitchen with Maggie and Kate a little while later. Kate was sitting on the counter drinking wine while Maggie chopped up some vegetables to make a platter for the continuing celebration. Rose loved the kitchen. The cabinets and drawers were white and the countertops were green, just like the outside of their house. There was a large picture window overlooking the backyard where Rose watched the festivities.

"So, Rose," Maggie lifted her eyes for a moment before she continued cutting, "where did you meet Tim?"

Rose spotted Tim just outside the window, speaking with an elderly couple. He looked so relaxed. It was amazing how charismatic he was, "He comes to the diner I work at every morning. He eventually started asking to spend time with me," She replied, taking a sip of wine.

Maggie laughed at this, "Tim is obsessed with a good breakfast," Maggie looked towards Rose with a smile, "And obsessed over coffee."

"Oh, yes, he's very particular," Rose nodded.

Kate snorted, kicking her boots back and forth from where she dangled on the countertop, "Our brother likes thing perfect. He's a perfectionist. Pretty funny 'cause he shared a room with Maggie and I. We are very messy girls."

"It made him stronger," Maggie winked at her youngest sister, "We can't tell you excited we are that Tim has finally met a girl. You look compliment him well."

Rose grinned and fingered the lip of her wine glass. She looked back out the window towards Tim who was surrounded by many people now. He had all of their attention as he spoke with wide animated gestures. Rose slowly walked closer to the window, peering down on him. He raked his brown hair back, out of his face, as he set his hand on a woman's arm, joining her in laughing. Rose couldn't help but simply just watch him.

...

The full moon was just rising above the tall oak trees of the neighborhood. Rose glanced to it fleetingly as she helped pile stacks of dirty dishes up and clear out the backyard with Tim and his sister's. The cicadas chirped loudly, their symphony filling the entire night. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the stars littered as far as the eye could see.

Lena hauled a stack of dishes into her arms. Rose copied and followed her up the stairs and through the propped open screen door to the house. Eileen was at the sink washing dishes. Lena immediately planted her feet, "Momma, stop! We're going to wash the dishes. Why on earth do you think you'd be expected to clean up _your _party!"

"It will help things go faster," Eileen said, glancing over her shoulder, "There's a lot of dishes to clean. Is that the rest of them?"

"Yes, I think it is," Lena replied, taking them to the counter, "Momma, really, stop. We can clean it up. Why don't you go rest with Papa?" Lena gripped her mother's wrist and took the sponge out, pecking her on the kiss, "Thanks for trying, though."

Eileen sighed, but her smile remained on her face, "You kids... always taking care of me. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around."

Lena gave her a goofy look, "You know the drill."

Just then, Maggie, Tim, and Diana came through the door, crumbling trash in their hands and taking it to the bin, "Oh, Timothy," Eileen called, undoing her apron and passing it to Lena, who was readying herself to continue the dishes, "Why don't you take the car back to New York City? I don't like the idea of you two walking all the way back since the trains have stopped now."

"Oh, shoot," Tim began tying the full trashbag off and pulling it out, "I had forgotten the trains don't run all night here. I don't know..." He shifted the weight of his feet, "I don't want to take your car for the whole week. I wouldn't be able to come back until next Saturday."

"Fooey," Eileen waved her hand dismissively, "We barely even touch the thing, it's too shiny for your father and I. Please, take it back. At least so Rose doesn't have to walk, please."

"Well... alright," Tim finally resigned. He perked up, however, and looked to Rose, "Have you ever seen New York City from the bridge at night when it's all lit up?"

"No, I haven't," Rose shook her head, leaning her hip against the counter.

"Oh, here we go, Hopelessly Romantic Tim," Maggie laughed, "Did you get your tricks from those novels you stole from Momma when you were a kid?"

Tim's face grew beet red, "You can't deny it's pretty."

"Oh, girls, leave him alone," Eileen laughed, not at all concerned, "It's settled, then. You're taking the car. It's a lovely night, anyway. You should put the top down. Rose, I have a hair tie you can use. Wouldn't want those curls getting knotted."

A bit later, the entire family came out onto the porch to bid Rose and Tim farewell, their arms full of left-over's. The couple descended the creaky step and turned to look at the family illuminated by the lemony-yellow porch light.

"Thank you so much for having me today," Rose told them, "I greatly appreciate your openess."

"The pleasure was all our's, dear," Eileen replied maternally, "We love having you. Please, never hesitate to come visit, with or without Timothy."

"Probably better if you come back without him," Penny smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, we got a whole stash of baby pictures of him," Maggie pointed towards her brother.

"Alright, and we're leaving!" Tim immediately turned Rose towards the alleyway.

"Be safe, my love!" Eileen called, waving from the porch steps, "Try to phone the cornerstore from your office to let me know you're home, okay! I'm going there tomorrow morning."

"Will do, bye! Love you!" Tim shouted over his shoulder as they descended into darkness, piling the dishes at the floorboards and climbing into the car. Tim started the car and took a moment to sigh, falling back against the leather seat. A shadow cast across his face as he cocked his eyes towards her, "So, was that overwhelming?"

"No," Rose shook her head with a small smile, "it wasn't," She let out a long sigh and laughed, "I cannot believe you're so lucky to have... well, a _community _of loving and accepting people. Everyone I talked to today had something grand to tell me about you. You've touched all these people, Tim. They care for you as you do for them. It was phenonmenal to see, honestly. You're so lucky. And it's funny, because you _know _you're lucky."

Tim slowly sat up a little, tilting his face closer to her's, "You know... you're part of this 'community' now, Rose. All those loving and accepting people feel the same about you. You should feel lucky, too, to know all the great people I do now."

Rose grinned, her face growing warm, "I guess I am lucky."

"Not as lucky as me," Tim pressed his lips into her's.

...

The drive back to New York City was fun for Rose. The roads were winding and at night, everything seemed to fly past even faster. Tim was a good and calculating driver. It was obvious he knew the roads by how at ease he took the sharp, rounding corners. He had his arm propped on the door as he steered them towards the hill. The streetlamps became more abundant as Rose guessed they grew nearer to New York City. She hadn't the faintest clue how long they had been driving.

As they chugged up the hill, Rose saw tall iron pillars with long steel ropes descending from it. She had to assume it was the bridge. She had never crossed it before in her entire life. Tim shifted the car as they came to the crest. The car bumped up and down as they crossed the threshold of the bridge. Rose looked to the tall bridge structure, feeling very meek in that moment. She gawked in awe at the idea mankind could even make things this big. Slowly her eyes trained down to the dark gleaming waves of the river beneath them. She watches the waves lap up against a large chunk of concrete on the shore of the industrial section of the city. Then her eyes looked forward and she was breathless.

There was New York City glowing in the inky darkness surrounding it. The tall skylines seemed so beautiful. The city looked to be so alive. Rose gripped the top of the windsheild and slowly pulled herself to her feet, standing straight up in the convertible. Her ponytail whipped at the nape of her neck as she got a clearer view of the city growing near. Tim cast a grin up at the distracted Rose as he slowed his speed a bit to allow her to relish longer.

"Tim, this is _magnificent!_" She leaned back to look at him, "It's beautiful! This is unlike any view I've ever had of New York!"

"I told you," Tim chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road.

Rose looked back to the city in delight, her mouth carelessly hanging open as she admired the buildings, the small streetlights dotting the way, and the small figure of people roaming the streets. Here it was, New York City, entirely in front of her eyes. She felt as if it was all her's suddenly. She could be anyone she dreamed to be, just as she had wanted after everything that had happened. Rose DeWitt Bukater was dead, it reminded her. She was free. Rose howled in ecstasy. Tim grinned, watching her scream into the darkness. It was the same thing he had felt after graduating and packing all of his things into a taxi, hauling it to New York City. He had sat on the sill of the door coming into New York City, hanging over the very asphalt he drove across now. He had been screaming, cheering, hollering, as if the city beckoned him to celebrate. It was enlightening to see that was finally unlocked inside of Rose. Tim pushed the pedal down and the car accerlated. Rose's body tingled as they booked it hot into New York City, into an entirely new realm as Rose could see it.

...

Tim pulled in along a curb on a street Rose didn't completely recognize. They had passed the dark diner and had continued north for good other eight to ten blocks before he had pulled over. The area was quiet. She glanced up to the different colored townhomes compactely built side-by-side. Across the street was a park, dimly illuminated. Rose could make out the faintness of a jungle gym set in the shadows. Tim looked to Rose, arching his eyebrows.

"I just thought, well..." He stuttered for a moment, clearing his voice, "It's pretty late. I thought it'd be easier for you to just stay here tonight. Is that alright?"

Rose glanced towards the townhouses again and opened her mouth for a moment before she finally found her words, "Oh, yes. That's... that's fine. I've never been to your place before, actually. I just realized that," She looked back towards him.

"Well, let's go," He opened the door and collected a couple dishes. Rose was able to get rest into her arms. He lead her towards a dark blue townhouse, the second from the left. He unlocked the door and when she walked in, she was surprised to find it smelled like sandalwood. Just like always did. It was rather refreshing. They had immediately entered into a small entry way that lead to a spacious living room with a slanted ceiling and a fire place. She loved the accented wood rafters above the living space. To the right was a staircase leading to persumably the bedrooms and bathrooms. Around the back of the staircase was a marble kitchen, shiny clean, just as Tim liked it. His entire house was in pristine order. Everything had a home on a shelf, in a chest or on a table. Rose took a moment to marvel at it. It was much better than her apartment.

"This should all fit in my ice box for the time being," Tim's voice interrupted her thoughts. She blinked rapidly and looked at him.

"Okay, great," She said and followed him further into the home. She noticed he had a rather spacious patio at the back of his kitchen, with a lovely sliding glass door. They piled all the dishes onto his kitchen island and he set about to sorting them meticulously.

Rose took that time to wander about, admiring every detail. The brass curvy cabinet doors, the plastic chrystal knobs on the drawers. The gleaming marble floor with grout packed into the crevices. The deep ceramic sink that was free of any stains or blemishes. She looked out to the living room, which was arranged to feature the fireplace as the centerpiece. Tim owned matching black leather couches, love seats, and recliners. There was a grand oak coffee table with many magazines cluttered atop and some candles. The oriental rug of vibrant colors gave the room a cheery and sophsticated look.

"If you want, you can wash up or take a shower before bed," Tim glanced to her as he began setting the dishes into the ice box, "The bathroom is the first door on the right at the top of the stairs."

"A shower sounds nice after my hair was in the wind for an hour," She chuckled and Tim smiled.

"Sure, go ahead. I'm probably going to head to bed."

"Where should I sleep?" Rose asked, folding her hands together.

"Well, actually," He rubbed his neck sheepishly, "Why don't you take my bedroom? I'll sleep on the couch. My only other room is my study. There isn't a bed in there."

"No, why don't I take the couch?" Rose suggested, "I'm a guest."

"No, I insist. It will be comfier," Tim shook his head.

Rose inhaled deeply, looking towards Tim. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she lunged forward, pressing her lips passionately against his, gripping the sides of jaws beneath her palms. Tim was stunned at first, but regained control of his arms, wrapping them around Rose's slender body. Rose's hands travelled through his loose brown hair, pushing glasses askew as their lips met over and over again in urgency. She grabbed hold of the top of his vest, giving him a tug.

"Why don't we just make this easy?" She whispered, her lips inches from his. Rose began walking backwards, tugging him after her, guiding him. She pressed her thighs to the arm of the couch and wrapped herself around his neck again, kissing him. Tim's hands gripped at her hips as he dipped in, deepening the kiss. He pulled his lips away in the next moment, however.

"Do you want this?" He asked breathily, "Is it... what you want?"

With trembling hands, Rose took Tim's glasses off his face, lowering them to the coffee table. She let her slender fingers graze along his cheeks for a moment. She then pressed her palms flat to either side of his face.

"Yes," She simply said.

Tim immediately claimed her lips again, slowly lowering her onto the couch. His lips trailed down her chin, gently pecking at her neck. She let out a content sigh as she pressed her fingers through his silky hair. Tim's hands ran along her arms and that's when she felt something inside of her shake. His hands were so smooth. They lacked any callouses at all. His hair wasn't bouncy. His lips felt differently. Tim's lips met her's again and she closed her eyes. When she did, all she could imagine was Jack hovering over her. His sticky blond bangs stuck across his forehead, his cheeks pink. She could recall those beautiful blue eyes. They were like the oceans waves and she was ready to fall into them. But most of all, she could feel his hands on her. She liked how rough they felt, how they tickled her soft skin. His body heat emanating against her made her ache longingly. Rose had nearly forgotten it was Tim as she kept her eyes closed, imagining a different time in life.


	12. A Life Less Frightening

Chapter Twelve

_July 1st, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

When Rose's eyes opened, she realized she was not where she had woken up. She was in Tim's bedroom. The curtains were drawn shut to help keep the room dark, but slivers of light snuck in, casting against the walls. As she shifted in the bed, she realized she was nude. Rose pressed the quilt to her chest and propped herself up on her elbow. Tim was sleeping soundly beside her, his face sunken into the pillow. Her eyes gently hovered over him before she laid back down, resigned to staring at the ceiling.

Jack was the only thing present on her mind. And yet, she still not dream of him. Frustrated, she turned her head away from Tim, holding in an impending sigh. Ever since the night before, her thoughts were prevalent with him. Recalling every detail, every word, every moment of contact. The sandalwood was no longer tingling her nose. All she could smell were the pine trees of Wisconsin. She turned on her side, facing away from Tim. She scrunched the quilts up in her hands as tears silently welled up in her eyes.

Last night, Rose had not captured the feeling she was longing for. Tim didn't touch her the same. He didn't ignite an electricity inside of her that she was desperate to rediscover. Rose felt her stomach constrict in a knot. So it had been true all along. Her gut instinct was right. Jack was her one true shot. He was the only person for her in that sense. Rose did like Tim, but afterall this time, he still was not Jack. Rose shook her head, hating herself in that moment. She couldn't help but consider herself nothing more than a picky petulant child. How could she be so cruel as to fault Tim for not being someone he didn't even know? Someone who was completely different from him.

In the next moment, Tim's arms were sliding around her waist, pulling her against his body. Rose blinked the tears away and turned her face to see his only inches from her, "Hey, good morning," He said, pecking her on the lips. He reached for his glasses on the night table and placed them on the bridge of his nose. He laid onto his back, stretching all the while, "Were you confused when you woke up? I couldn't fall asleep on the couch, so I just carried you up here with me. You're a heavy sleeper, you know that, right?"

She grinned weakly, "I liked to sleep past my wake-up call and be late for school."

Tim laughed open at this, tucking his hands beneath his pillow, "Did you want to go out for breakfast? Maybe some coffee?"

"Actually, I have some things I need to get done today," Rose sat up, reaching for her dress that Tim had gingerly folded on a nearby chair. She stepped into it zipping it up, "I appreciate the offer, though," She said, flinging her hair free from the collar. Rose turned towards Tim who was now sat up in bed, gazing at her, "How about a rain check?"

Tim finally grinned and nodded, sheepishly rustling hair hair, "Yeah, I suppose I do, too."

Rose came to the side of the bed and leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on Tim's lips. A flash of Jack came across her eyelids and left just as quick. Her skin puckered in goosebumps as she finally parted from Tim and put her shoes on, "See you soon," She said, closing the bedroom door behind her.

...

_July 4th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The night time symphony rang out into the darkness. Frenchie and Jack were sitting on the roof of the studio, their legs dangling over the side. Iris was still below putting her art gear away. Hurriedly, however, because she did not want to miss the fireworks show.

Frenchie fiddled with a paintbrush in his fingers, his apron smudged and dirty from an entire day of just painting. Jack's white shirt was dirty as well. Frenchie looked out towards the large bridge and then followed the river for a few moments before he took a curt breath and looked to Jack.

"I know what happened the other day..." Frenchie cast his eyes down as he spoke gently, as to not be heard from the attic door left opened, "Between you and Iris."

Jack clenched his jaw as he kept his eyes trained outward to the glowing city.

"Jack, I won't fault you for what happened, but I just want to know..." Frenchie paused for a moment, studying the side of Jack's face, "Why? Why isn't Iris good enough for you?"

Jack sighed exasperatedly, hunching his shoulders, "It's not that she's not good enough," Jack said flatly, meeting Frenchie's dark eyes, "In fact, it's not her at all. And I told her this. It's me."

"You're telling me that some girl of the past, who isn't here anymore, is better than my sister, who you can appreciate in the moment?" Frenchie looked incredulous, "Jack, the past is dead. There's nothing you can do to change the facts. The _Titanic _sunk. Those people are gone."

Jack looked to his hands, clenching his hands and unclenching to release the anger building up underneath his skin. He licked his lips and spoke calculating, "I don't ask you to understand, Frenchie," Jack looked to his boss, the cicadas ringing in his ears, "I just ask that you accept it."

"You want me to accept the fact you're depressed? You're letting yourself wither away. Jack, art requires emotions. You're chasing yours off. You can't resign to the fact that you'll never love again. It's simply not true. There's someone out there for everyone-"

"My somone," Jack said tensely, "is dead."

"Everyone gets a second chance," Frenchie shot back, "What do you want in life now, Jack?"

"Honestly," Jack's voice wavered for a moment and he paused, looking towards the sky. He anxiously ran his fingers together and let out a sigh, not daring to look at Frenchie, "I just want a life that's less frightening, Frenchie. I've never been so afraid of the world as I am now. I used to think it was an oyster, all mine to collect and relish in. I used to think my endless drifting was rock bottom," Jack shook his head disdainfully, "No... _this _is rock bottom. Without Rose."

"What about her was so grand, anyway?" Frenchie shrugged.

"Everything," Jack said firmly, knitting his eyebrows together. He could hear the wind whistling in his ear, the powerful ship slicing through the ocean as if it was nothing. He could smell the salty air. There she was, hair blowing in the wind, sweeping across her face, but not blocking that beautiful smile. There she was, waiting for him to take her hand, lead her off into that sunset, the one they had spoken of the most. Jack closed his eyes briefly, swallowing a growing lump in his throat, "She was kind," Jack's eyes were glassy as he looked out at the horizon. His voice was husky, oozing the last bit of emotion he felt he had left. Frenchie only watched him, "She was sweet... she cared about everyone, even those who had done her wrong. She was brilliant, Frenchie. I could listen to her talk on for hours on end. And her voice," He lowered his eyes, his whole body trembling, "... it was like an angel's. It was so harminous... so smooth," Jack smiled weakly as her face came to the forefront of his mind, "She was talented. She had so much promise. She could fight for herself, stand on her own two feet. And she'd stop at nothing to do it. I think that's what I loved about her the most," Jack looked to Frenchie, openly crying, "I loved that willpower in her. To get whatever she wanted."

"You don't think anyone could ever equate to her?" Frenchie seemed displeased, "Why don't you give Iris a chance?"

"Because I'm not setting myself up to break her heart," Jack shook his head, looking out into the distance again, "Because I already know what would happen if I let Iris get close to me. I'm not ready to commit to anybody. And I feel it's only fair that make myself clear on that."

"I just don't understand why you do this to yourself," Frenchie sighed, "The first step to recovering and forgetting is moving on and-"

"I would _never _forget her," Jack said.

"You have to go back to living a normal life, Jack," Frenchie cried, "You have to be a human. One that let's itself go, has some fun, _lives _again. You can't spend the rest of your days being this guarded. You have to let somebody in, Jack. Life is unfair, we all have suffered. But these are the cards you've been dealt. It can't be Rose so it has to be someone else."

"There is no someone else!" Jack had a fire in his eyes now, "For God's sake, are you even listening to me!? Why can't you accept the way I feel?! A whole year may seem like a long time to you, but for me, it's not. I still think about her every day. I _talk _to her every day. I don't want to go play around in the garden when I'm perfectly fine right here!"

"If you want a life less frightening, then why don't you stop living in those frightening memories?!" Frenchie shot back, agitation edging his voice, "Part of moving on is helping yourself, Jack! How can you ever expect life to feel better if you let her fester inside of you?!"

"Screw you," Jack growled, standing up and marching across the roof, "You don't understand, Frenchie."

"What don't I understand?!" Frenchie stumbled to his feet and threw his arms out at his side, not caring about the volume of his voice, "This entire time I've been making art with you, I think I've come to understand you just fine. I don't you understand yourself!"

"Oh, and what do I not understand, huh?" Jack put his hands on hips, his entire body radiating, "I get it. You think I'm pathetic. That I'm wasting my time pining over what could have been. And you're right. But I don't know how to fix this. I know, sure as hell, that it's not by being with Iris."

"But you don't know," Frenchie shouted, "You don't know because you won't let anybody in! You shut us all out! We're here knocking and you're leaving us out here. _You're _your own problem, Jack!"

Just as Jack was opening his mouth to reply, a whizzing noise broke out into the air and suddenly a red burst of light cackled in the sky behind Frenchie. He turned around to gawk his head up at the sky that was now being illuminated in many colors, the sounds of popping resounding across the quiet river. Jack watched with a face of stone, recalling the flares from the _Titanic _offering a brief moment of redirection from the impending fate of the ship. The shrill sounds of violins reached his ears momentarily and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Iris popped up behind from the attic door in the next few moments, the biggest grin on her face, unaware of what just took place. She brushed past Jack, walking towards the edge of the roof to watch the spectacle. Jack looked at the back of Iris, the fireworks offering brief illumination over her. He then looked at Frenchie and shook his head. With a thundering heart beat, Jack went down the attic steps, slamming the door behind him.

...

The sound of fireworks surprised Rose. She had been laying on the couch wearing nothing but a white button-up, Jack's mugshot twisted in her fingers, staring directly back at her. Rose had called out of work the past two days as she struggled to cope with the bitter emptiness that now plagued her insides. She felt so absolutely dreadful. She thought she had wanted the right thing, but she couldn't help but think it was all a mistake. She desperately liked Tim but she knew she would never truly be happy with him. At least in the way he seemed happy with her. Rose felt awful about it because Tim had put in so much effort. It was clear he cared for her and she asked herself why wasn't it enough? He loved her in a capacity that was similar to Jack's and he had been consistent for much longer than what Jack was able to offer. Why couldn't Rose give herself in to that? Why couldn't she let herself go again? She had, without as much as a second thought, with Jack.

The cackling fireworks though drew her to the window, where she gripped the sill tenderly and watched with a face of sorrow. It reminded her of the flares on the _Titanic. _She sighed and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. She untangled the picture in her hand and allowed her eyes to hover over it yet again.

_What is it about you that draws me into you? _She thought, her fingers gently grazing over his picture, _There was something about you... something different. No one else saw it but me. In some ways, I'm also cursed that I met you... but I wouldn't trade those three days for anything. Not even for another shot at happiness, Jack._

A green firework illuminated the glossy photo in her hands. Her eyes fluttered upwards for the briefest moment before going back to the picture, which she lifted and planted a kiss on. She sighed longingly, pressing her back to the wall and sliding down onto the ground. Rose hugged her knees and set her chin on top.

"This is rock bottom," She told herself, her voice cracking as tears blurred her vision.


	13. Skeletons

Chapter Thirteen

_August 13th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

It was a hectic morning at the diner for Rose. It seemed more and more waves of business men were flocking towards the convienent and decent little restaraunt on the corner, just before central downtown. She hustled table to table, having to remake pot after pot of coffee. Frazzled, she pulled a ticket out from her apron and cursed when she realized the order never made it to the kitchen. She slammed a new pot onto the maker, hoping it would be full when she came back. Rose darted into the kitchen, jamming the ticket on the line with dozens other's. When Rose came back out from the kitchen, Winston was ringing some customers up at the till.

"Hey, doll," Winston said after finishing the transaction, "Your beau just came in."

Rose looked towards Winston as if she had seen a ghost, "When?"

"Just now, he's findin' a seat," Winston nodded his head towards him.

"Where's Christie?"

"She's got enough tables," Winston approached her, "What is going on with you recently, Rose? The past three days he's come in, you've disappeared. He's asked about you. Sounds like he's havin' trouble contacting you. Are you okay?"

"Yes..." Rose wrung her hands for a moment, "I've just wanted space. You know, it's just been... overwhelming, I guess, feeling these feelings again."

"From everything you told me about him, he seems like a great guy," Winston placed his beefy hand on Rose's shoulder, "Don't chase away a good thing just 'cause you have a few skeletons in the closet. It's not good for you, doll."

"Oh, Winston..." Rose sighed longingly, "I wish I could take your advice..."

"Well, you're gonna have to," Winston said, peering over her shoulder, "He's comin' this way."

"I'm going on break," Rose brushed past him breathlessly, heading towards the kitchen door, not breaking more than even a fast walk. She clenched her fists at her side, her blood throbbing as it coursed through her veins.

"Rose!" She heard him call. Her breathing shallowed as she approached the kitchen door, swinging it open, "Rose!" Rose bit her lip as she began to step into the kitchen, but someone caught her elbow, turning her towards them. She came face to face with Tim, "Rose... we need to talk."

"About what?" She whispered.

Tim looked away for a moment, "Can we go somewhere, please?"

"Tim, there are a lot of customers," Rose gestured towards the diner, "I can't just-"

"I'll wait," Tim insisted, "I'll cancel appointments. I need to talk to you."

"Rose," Winston called gruffly, catching the couple's attention, "I'll take your tables. Go."

"But Winston-"

"Go."

Rose slowly cocked her head back at Tim who seemed so hurt and confused. She sighed, his grip never loosing on her elbow, "Please," Tim said softly. Rose's bottom lip began to quiver and she bit it again to still it.

...

Jack made a few final brush strokes of white before he let out a long huff, backing up to inspect the canvases. The debutaunte scene, the women in loungewear, a boy hanging on the side of a train, those three were finally completed. Jack sighed, setting his palette and paintbrush down. He wiped his face on his forearms, as his hands were covered in cracked and dried paint.

"Frenchie!" Jack called over his shoulder, his eyes not leaving the canvases, "Frenchie! Come look at this!"

Frenchie came hustling out from the back room, all the while stirring paint furiously in a small bucket he held under his arm, "What! What is it?" He asked, nearly breathless.

"These three are finally done," Jack gestured to the canvases, "I think they came out great, too."

Frenchie had stars in his eyes. He clunked the bucket down on the table and began howling with laughter, tangling Jack into his arms, "That's the way, brother! We have eleven more to make in about thirteen weeks. Do you think we can do it?"

"Yeah, o'course we can," Jack grinned lopsidedly, "We can definitely do it."

Just then, the door to the studio swung open and Iris came through, kicking the door shut behind her. She had portfolio tucked under one arm and her favorite drink, Coca-Cola, in her other hand. She grinned towards the men as she went to the table.

"Iris, look!" Frenchie exclaimed, startling her, "We've completed three of the paintings."

Iris turned to inspect them, folding her hands behind her back, "These are all really nice. They'll look good in the museum, up on those big white walls."

Frenchie was trembling with excitement as he grabbed his bucket and raised back to the room to continue mixing. Jack grinned after him and went back to looking at the paintings with his hands on his hips. Jack turned and pushed his palette out of the way, sitting down the table for the first time in four hours. He let out a sigh as his feet throbbed. He propped them up on the stool beside him. Iris wasn't looking at him. She was already set to work drawing something.

Jack craned his neck slightly to get a better look at her paper. She stretched her pinky out, deftly smearing the charcoal to create a beautiful trascending shadow. Jack cocked his head to the side and that's when it dawned on him. She was drawing roses with thorns. Jack slounched back in his seat, drumming his fingers along the edge.

"Hey, uh, Iris," Jack cleared his throat. She arched her eyebrows and looked to Jack. He pulled his feet down from the stool and slid upright, folding his hands together, "would you maybe want to go do something tomorrow evening? Just you and me?"

"Oh," Iris sounded rather shocked, laying her pencil down now, "and do what?"

"I know of this cool bar on the river that has a live band in the evenings," Jack grinned, leaning forward on his elbows, "I figured it'd be more fun with two people, y'know?"

Iris grinned after a few moments, "So... you're asking me out on a date?"

Jack cast his eyes down for a second before looking back to Iris, "We can call it that if you want."

"Okay, it's a date. I'll meet you here?"

"Yeah, six o'clock."

...

Tim and Rose found themselves in a nearby alleyway minutes later. Rose pressed her back to the grimey wall, the cool brick stinging into her skin. Tim stood in front of her, the cool gusts of the oncoming autumn brushing his trench coat back and revealing his suit. Stiffly at his side he held his briefcase. He shuffled his feet for a moment, looking at her with deep concern.

"Rose... something has been up for awhile now. Something has felt... different," He said, calculating his words carefully, "I think I may have an assumption, but you know what assuming does. Would you maybe like to tell me what has been going on? You have seemed off lately."

"Just... tired," Rose shook her head, digging her nails into the side of a few bricks, "I think maybe my body has been fighting some illness off. Work has just been really busy."

"Are you taking care of yourself?" Tim asked, stepping forward slightly, "Rose, you need to be going to bed early, eating properly and frequently."

"I'll, uh, I'll work on it," She swallowed roughly, casting her eyes down.

Tim shifted his weight between his feet and rubbed his hand along his jaw for a moment, glancing towards the street full of pedestrians occassionally looking their way, "Rose," He whispered, leaning in closer to her now, "I don't really think you're telling me the whole truth," Tim brought his hand up and tenderly touched Rose's cheek. Her heart throbbed in her throat as she felt his smooth skin against her's, nearly searing her, "Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You know that, right? I won't judge you. I want to help you, Rose. You know I love you. Just tell me what it is."

Tears welled up in Rose's eyes and she scrunched her eyebrows together, her entire body trembling. Tim set his suitcase down and put both his hands on her shoulders as the tears fell and Rose fought against the sobs, "Tim, there's..." She took a deep uneven breath, forcing herself to look at him, "There's a lot I need to tell you... about me," Rose closed her eyes longingly, her nostrils flaring as her face became warm.

"Why don't you come back to my office with me?" Tim asked, gripping her shoulders tightly, "It will be quiet and private. It's not a far walk at all."

Rose's throat felt pinched as she looked at Tim who was trying so hard to understand. She shook her head, "The words are right on the tip of my tongue, Tim. But... I don't know if I can say them. I never have outloud in the order I'm thinking of. It will all..." She choked for a moment, her chest falling heavily, "It will change your perspective of me entirely."

"Rose, come on, give me a chance," Tim's bold eyebrows knitted together, "You're making it sound like you murdered someone and did away with the corpse. Whatever it is, it can't be as horrible as you're making it seem. I need you to talk to me," His finger came to rest under her chin, "And I need you to trust me."

...

Frenchie and Iris left the studio mid-afternoon. Their mother was making an early dinner because her favorite radio story was coming back on the air tonight. Iris dug her hands into the pockets of her coat as they descended the hill and began heading towards their neighboorhood a few blocks away. Iris glanced to the sky for a moment before she peered over at her brother.

"You know... Jack asked me out on a date," She told him, smiling crookedly.

"What, a date!?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows, "Really, when?"

"Tomorrow evening at a place with live music," Iris shrugged, blowing a bang out of her eyes, "He asked me just out of the blue while you were mixing paint."

"That son of a bitch," Frenchie breathed, "He actually listened to me?"

"You talked to him?" Iris' cheeks grew rosy, "Frenchie, no! Why did you talk to him?"

"Hey," Frenchie held his hands up in self-defense as they turned down a street lined with trees that were waning in a variety of shades of green, yellow, and red, "I was tired of seeing him mope over that dead girl-"

"Her name was Rose."

"Right, well, she is toxic to Jack now," Frenchie shrugged, "He'd be better just moving on with his life. It all just came up in conversation."

"Stop meddling in my romantic affairs," Iris told him with a pointed look, "I certainly hope he isn't doing it just to appease you. I happen to think he's great and just want to spend more time with him. That's all."

"That's all?" Frenchie echoed with a snort, "No, you've finally found your Tom Sawyer, Becky."

"Oh, cut it out," Iris gave him a small push.

"We haven't talked about it in over a month," Frenchie told his sister, his shoes crunching over some fallen leaves, "Honestly, I thought he had forgotten all about it because he was not happy to hear what I had to say in the moment."

The duo walked in silence for a few moments, only the rustling of the trees to be heard. Iris tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at Frenchie, squinting in the afternoon light, "You know it's none of our business, right?"

"What?" Frenchie glanced to her.

"Jack and his past life," Iris said, looking forward at the approaching path, "Whatever happened between him and Rose, whatever he witnessed on the _Titanic... _We can't force him to tell us. To re-live those memories. They're demons to him, Frenchie. He has to battle them alone sometimes."

"I work closely with the man," Frenchie shook his head, "It's in my best interest to know, Iris."

Iris stopped walking, staring after her brother who walked a few more paces before pausing and turning towards her, "Not in Jack's best interest. Only time heals wounds, Frenchie. And we all heal differently. You have to give Jack time. And besides, maybe this invitation is the beginning of his true healing process, where the scab finally heals."

Frenchie grinned, nodding his head, "Maybe you're right. Maybe he did listen to me?"

Iris rolled her eyes melodramatically and playfully punched Frenchie on the arm as the two continued home beneath the shade of the trees.

...

Tim guided Rose into his dark office on the twelfth level on a downtown skyscraper. Tim opened some of the curtains to allow some natural light in. The office was bordered by dark stained woods and had a thick dark green carpet. He had a large L-shaped oakdesk and that towards the windows. There were more leather chairs against walls and gathered towards his desk, many plants accenting the corners and making the room bright. Rose paused and looked out over New York City. Everything seemed so small and far away. Tim gestured her to seat herself and he leaned up against his desk, pressing his palms to the edge. Mechanically, Rose sunk into the chair in front of him, clutching her dress in her clenched fists.

Tim cleaned his glasses for a moment, putting them on the bridge of his nose before he began speaking quietly, "Now, Rose... I like to think I'm not an oblivious distracted man, but I can't pretend to be the best on picking up on signals," He licked his lips, his eye contact with her unwavering, "But I think there's something we need to discuss. And... it's what happened at my place."

Rose felt her heart thundering in her chest. Tim remained cool and collected as usual.

"I think, maybe, we progressed too quickly," Tim said softly, "And I'd hate to think I made you uncomfortable in anyway. Would you tell me if I did?"

Rose lowered her eyes for a second, "Tim, no. You didn't make me uncomfortable," Rose lifted her eyes slowly, "I just..." She snapped her mouth shut for a moment and pondered her words. Tim waited patiently, "I'm experiencing emotions I haven't felt in a while. I'm... in a way, still adapting to my new life as I know it. These feelings are just confusing and... overwhelming."

"Do you care to explain?" He asked, lowering himself into the chair beside her, reaching out to touch her arm.

Rose looked around the quiet office. The silence was nearly deafening, ringing in Rose's ears as she became acutely aware of it, "Tim, I'm from Philidelphia. And," She took a deep breath, willing herself to look at those hazel eyes, "Dawson is not my real last name."

"What is your real name?" Tim asked, cocking his head to the side.

"It's Rose DeWitt Bukater," She said, her breathing shallowing, "And I was engaged to a wallstreet tycoon by the name of Caledon Hockley."

"What...?" Tim slowly sat up straight, "I... I read about this story in the newspaper. Rose, I read about your death. I read about the speculation of Hockley's stake in the stock market. You're telling me it was you? You were the fiancée?"

Rose pursed her lips together and nodded gravely, looking down to her hands in her lap, "My father was Stephen DeWitt Bukater, the founder of the textile company DB and Co. I'm... I'm his only child. He died, the business went with him..." She let out a long sigh, her eyes still trained downwards as if she was ashamed, "And my mother sold me off to the first man willing to buy."

"How did you end up on the _Titanic_?" Tim asked.

"My mother, Cal, and I went on a tour of Europe at the end of 1911. It was kind of an early celebration before... before I became Rose Hockley," She shuddered at the thought and had to take a deep breath. She still didn't look to Tim, "And we were sailing back on the _Titanic _for the wedding."

"So... when you say you and your mother don't talk... it's because she thinks you're dead?" Tim was watching Rose closely, absolutely floored by what she was telling him.

"Yes, and I feel awful about it," A singular tear rolled off the end of Rose's nose, plopping onto her clenched hands, "Things were awful, Tim," She looked to him with a desperate hurt, "_He _was awful. Cal didn't care about me in the least. I was his golden ticket to inheriting his father's domain on wallstreet. I was nothing more than an arm decoration. I couldn't stand the thought of us being together... the way he talked to me, the way he treated me," Her eyes slowly gazed off into the distance at nothing at all while the tears flowed freely now, "... the way he touched me. It was... it was horrible, Tim. I had to get out. Things fizzled over on the _Titanic_. I tried leaving him. It was easy to disappear on a ship bursting at the seams with mania. The sinking was my way out."

Tim reached forward, brushing some curls from her pinched face, "You've had to go through so much. And you've just kept that bottled up this entire time?"

Rose quivered, pulling back from his touch slightly, "There was no one left to tell, Tim."

"Well, I'm here now," He gave her a soft grin, his thumb gently stroking her jaw, "Where'd you get the name Dawson from?" He asked in hopes of lightening the mood.

Rose felt her insides constrict for the slightest moment, "A book. It was the name of a hero..." She whispered, her lips barely moving.

Tim smiled, flattening his palm to her cool cheek. She allowed herself to melt into the touch, "And what did this hero do that was so great?" Tim whispered.

"Same old, same old," Rose shrugged, tears still in her eyes, "He saved the girl."


	14. Sparked

Chapter Fourteen

_August 14th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The studio was quiet that afternoon so Frenchie turned the radio to a jazz station. He and Jack worked separately side-by-side on two different canvases. Their focus was intent as they laid down brush stroke after brush stroke. Frenchie was beginning the base layer for a scene of two girls riding on the back of a hay cart while Jack did fine details on trees for a scene depicting a cozy cabin with chickens free-roaming. Frenchie cast a glance at Jack, however, pausing from his task.

"So, you and Iris have a date tonight, huh?" He asked, the jazz music echoing distantly.

Jack barely glanced at him as he dabbed his brush into dark green paint, smothering it onto the canvas, "Yeah, we do."

Frenchie smirked, absent mindedly twirling the paintbrush in his hand, "You actually listened to what I had to say? You're taking my advice now?"

Jack sighed and lifted his brush from the canvas, "I just thought it'd be good to have a reason to get out is all," He shrugged, wiping his cheek with his forearm, "I only know you and Iris."

"Oh, why didn't you ask me then?" Frenchie chuckled, "I think it's great, Jack. I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I think you made the right choice."

"Don't get your hopes up or anything," Jack shrugged, returning to dabbing the canvas, "She's the one callin' it a date. I'd consider it more of a social outing."

"Well, don't tell her that," Frenchie dipped his brush into his paint and continued, "I just think you're going to have a great time. And I don't think you're expecting anything."

"Like I said, I just wanna go out, drink some cheap beer, and hear some music. That's all."

"Mhm, sure," Frenchie smiled as he continued painting.

...

Jack sat at the top the attic steps, just outside his door. He bobbed his knee as he took a long drag of his cigarette, occasionally dipping his head down to catch a glance of the door. Jack raked his hair back from his face, watching a ribbon of smoke trail from his hands. He was wearing a white button up with tan pants and his suspenders. He wore a plaid overcoat that he rolled at the cuff. He wasn't dressed up in the least and hoped Iris hadn't taken her looks too seriously.

Jack stood, straightening his coat, and wandered into his bedroom. He walked slowly, clunking his boots to the creaky boards and swinging his arm, all the while holding the cigarette between his lips with his front teeth. He looked around his room for a moment and paused when he saw Rose's obituary tacked up on the wall. Jack lowered his cigarette from his mouth as he leaned over, plucking it off the wall and drawing it near to him. He took a drag of his cigarette, his eyes locked on Rose's face.

"I miss you, darlin'..." He croaked, smoke trailing from his chapped lips, "Every time I look at this picture, it's like you get prettier and prettier..." Jack sighed, lowering the picture to his side. He tilted his head back, taking another careless drag, "What am I doin', Rose? I don't even know anymore. I'm used to having no direction, but this is a whole new definition of lost."

He threw himself in the chair by the window, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. Jack lifted the picture to his eyes, resting his head back in the chair, "I wonder what you and I would be doing right now... I wonder where we would be. Do you think we would have actually stayed in New York City?" He tilted his head to the side for a moment, "No... you had anxious feet. We would be somewhere else right now. Maybe sleepin' on the beach, drinking that cheap beer we always talked about," He lowered the picture into his lap and pushed his window open, tossing his cigarette out, "I should go to Santa Monica... for us," Jack muttered, listening to the cicadas chirp outside, "I'll have a drink for you tonight, Rose..."

Just then, he heard the studio door open. He staggered to his feet and tacked the obituary back on his wall above his bed.

"Jack!" Iris' voice resounded through the building.

Jack went to his door, flicking the light off, "Right here! I'm coming down, Iris."

His boots thundered down the step as he ran his hands along the narrow walls during his descent. He came to the bottom of the steps and adjusted his coat as he looked around before spotting Iris at the table, her eyes on the tall canvases begging to be finished. When Jack spotted her, he had all the breath knocked out of him and his stomach constricted tightly. Iris turned towards him and smiled. He did his best to mask any duress he was under.

Iris was wearing a dress Rose had owned. In fact, it was the last one he had seen her in. It was that short sleeve dress with a light white tulle skirt. The torso was a baby blue with that sweet pink sash around the waist. Iris had allowed her hair free and it cascaded down her shoulders. Jack quivered just looking at her.

"Iris... you uh, you look great," He said, casting his eyes down and sheepishly digging his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Thank you," She giggled and fluffed her skirt out, "Mama bought this for me ages ago. It's very nice. I've never actually had a proper occassion to wear it, so I thought why not tonight."

Jack grinned weakly, his stomach tossing and turning, "Yeah. I'm glad you've gotten the chance. It looks... very cute on you," He gnawed on his lip for a moment before he arched his eyebrows and cleared his throat, "Well, uh, I guess we should get going, huh? The band will be comin' on soon."

Iris smiled, her blue eyes glowing, "Alright, let's go."

...

The bar wasn't a far walk at all. Jack was glad it was short. The walk, for the most part, was silent. They had only spoken briefly when they first set out, just so Iris could thank him for the invite. He grinned weakly and reached for a cigarette from his coat. The bar was appearing at the end of the street they were on, just before it lead to docks reaching out towards the wide body of water. He could distantly hear the waves crashing against the concrete.

"Jack," Iris broke through his thoughts. He tilted his head to look at her, "why do you smoke?"

Jack lowered the cigarette from his mouth, taking his time exhaling and shrugging as the smoke trailed away in the wind, "It calms me down."

"But doesn't it hurt?" Iris asked, furrowing her brow together, "Doesn't it taste bad?"

Jack smirked, "You get used to it."

"After my Papa passed away, I found a pack of cigarettes in one of his coat pockets," Iris said slowly, folding her hands behind her back as they continued down the street, "He had quit smokin' years before, I was surprised to see them there. But, they were unopened. I tried one... and it was horrible."

"First one always is," Jack inspected his cigarette before taking a puff of it, "Like I said, it gets easier."

"How long have you been smoking?" Iris curiously peered at the side of his face, which gleamed in the overhead moonlight.

"I dunno," Jack shrugged, the cigarette dangling between his lips, "Since I was thirteen, I suppose."

"Jesus, Jack, that's nearly a decade," Iris shook her head.

"Hey, it's apart of me," Jack looked at Iris now, "I want some proof I lived somehow," They continued walking a few steps. Jack threw his cigarette into the gutter and sighed, "Does my smoking bother you, Iris?"

"No," Iris finally replied after a moment, pausing at the corner of the bar, "I just wish you didn't feel like you needed it."

"I just like the way it feels," Jack put his hands in his coat pockets, "I smoked before my parents died. Before I ever met Rose. Or sailed on the _Titanic_. I don't feel like I need it. I just like it," His eyes darted to her dress momentarily and he immediately averted his eye contact, shuffling his feet on the concrete, "Come on, let's get a seat on the balcony," He finally said, nodding his head and leading her towards a short iron wrought fence.

It wasn't very busy, luckily. Jack and Iris claimed a table along the railing facing the river that also had a good view of the stage, where men with a three piece drum-set, a trumpet, and an acoustic guitar were shuffling about. When the waitress came, Jack ordered the cheapest pitcher of beer they had, which was quick to return to them. Jack poured his frothy drink with a grin and took a good swig, passing the pitcher to Iris.

"You know, I could buy as a higher quality beer," Iris told him, smirking, as she poured herself a glass. Jack licked his lips and grinned crookedly.

"No, no. This stuff is just right. For me, at least," Jack laughed, "Feel free to order yourself a pitcher, but I'll still out-drink you on the cheapest I can find."

An acoustic guitar rang out across the bar. Jack glanced over his shoulder towards the elderly man in the stool, gently picking at the strings.

"How many of these are you hoping to pack away tonight?" Iris asked, drawing him back to the table.

"I hope I'll run their tap dry," Jack said, already pouring himself a new drink.

They drank in silence for a few moments, just taking in the music gently lolling on behind them. Jack looked out towards the dark river leisurely rolling by. He watched the waves as he tilted his head back and took a drink, slowly licking his lips.

"Jack, what were your parents like?" Iris asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

Jack looked at her, surprised by the question. He blinked for a moment and cleared his throat, "They were really great people. Treated me well. We were always poor, but that didn't matter. My parents never let me go hungry. Never stopped me from being who I was."

"What were their names?" She grinned, brushing some hair behind her ear.

"Elena and James," Jack took a swig of beer and refilled his glass, signalling to the waitress for another pitcher, "My mom was a seamstress," Jack looked back to Iris. The cheap beer made for discussing himself much easier, "My dad was a farmer."

"You were an only child?"

"Yeah, they couldn't afford two," Jack joked as the waitress delivered a fresh pitcher of beer, frothy with foam at the top, "I started drawing when I was five 'cause I was just so bored during the winters. We'd be buried inside the house. Eventually, I grew into liking it. My parents weren't artists, didn't quite understand where I got the affinity for it, but they supported me."

"Wow, that's so interesting," Iris said after a sip of her drink, "You're lucky you discovered your talent. Can you believe some people go all their lives without trying things, things they maybe masterful of? You're very lucky to have found your 'thing'."

"Well, what about you?" Jack furrowed his brow together, lowering his drink, "You've found your 'thing' with art, too, haven't you?"

Iris shrugged, pursing her lips for a moment, "I can only draw flowers. Nothing else. Coming from a family of artists, I feel amateur compared to them. Frenchie can draw anything, just like you can. My father could sculpt masterpieces from a clunky rock. And my mother can weave the most beautiful and intricate patterns into fabric. And me? Flowers? That's it?"

"Art's all about making what speaks to _you_," Jack told her, "Maybe you're only good at flowers because you're just naturally drawn to them. Do flowers make you happy?"

"They're pretty..." Iris shrugged sheepishly, "Other than that, they're all the same. They don't move, they don't do anything. Who in their right mind would simply have flowers adorning their walls when they could have one of Frenchie's landscapes?"

"You're lookin' at it all wrong," Jack finished his beer and immediately poured another, "You can't go comparing yourself to everything out on the market. You shouldn't be pandering for anyone. In your art world, you're in charge. If you want to make art, it has to come from the heart, Iris. Go only where you know, do only what you wanna do. First lesson of the art world."

"Flowers, though?" Iris laughed outloud, her pearly teeth glowing in the low lighting of the bar, "Jack, do you hear how crazy that sounds? I'm just starting to think art is not my 'thing'. But that's okay," Iris shrugged, "I think I still have time to figure out what it really is."

"I don't agree," Jack said, surprising Iris, "I think art _is _your calling. Iris, you're more talented than what you give yourself credit for. And I hate that. I hate when people with a stupid amount of talent think they're nothing. You're doing yourself a great dishonor, the world is honestly missing out, if you're not pursuing art, Iris."

"Why do you care so much?" Iris asked.

"Because the world needs art," Jack replied, leaning forward, his eyebrows arched. Iris caught a whiff of cheap beer and pine trees momentarily, "We need more people making art, Iris. We're caught in a quickly revolutionizing world. There are people crunching numbers, monetizing us. Making the world nothin' but business. Artists have a duty to keep the spirit of art in this world of business. It makes a world gray and it's up to us to keep it colorful."

"And you think my flowers could help?" She grinned.

"Anything can help," Jack insisted, "as long as it comes from your heart."

A trumpet began to croon out over the bar. Many people inside had now migrated out as the band continued at a whimsical soothing beat that made it easy to kick back and relish the drunken feeling many had. Iris glanced to the river for a moment, licking her lips.

"Jack... you're a really great guy," She said, looking directly at him. His grip tightened on his cup, "You're just really kind and sweet. Honestly, you deserve so much more than what you have."

"Oh, come on," Jack laughed, pouring himself more beer, "You can't spend your life getting bent up on the little details."

"So you're fine sleeping in a creaky attic and mixing paint all day?"

"Yeah, actually," Jack replied after a drink, "It was my dream life as a kid."

Iris giggled, "Jack, your name deserves to be on marquees. You should have your own museum. A penthouse full of the best art in the world. The world needs to see your talent. You're more than just Frenchie's assistant."

Jack waved his dismissively from behind his cup, "You saw my portfolio, it's all of the same thing. Like you feel condemned to flowers, I'm condemned to just drawings of Rose."

"She's really the only thing you've been drawing?"

"Since I could hold a pencil again after the _Titanic_," Jack nodded, "Just her."

"Why?" Iris asked.

Jack shrugged and surprisingly smiled, "I don't know. I just like seeing her again. I like drawing those pictures and reliving those moments of the _Titanic_. I know it's probably not good for me, but she's everywhere, Iris."

"Is she here right now?" Iris tilted her head to the side.

"Just about," Jack nodded his head towards her, "you're wearing the same dress she had. The last one I saw her in."

Iris opened her mouth but no sound escaped. She lowered her eyes to her dress before looking at Jack, whose almond skin gleamed in the flickering overhead lamp light. Her heart beat violently in her chest as she stared into Jack's soft blue eyes.

...

Jack walked Iris back to her house after they left the bar. They knew it was late into the night. The full moon was directly overhead as they walked as straight as they could after the amount of beer they had just consumed. Iris' cheeks were rosy as she walked alongside Jack. Jack glanced to her before he slid his jacket off, offering it to her.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked after she had put it on.

"I was a little chilly," She replied, holding the jacket closed, "Thank you."

Jack reached for a cigarette as they passed beneath a streetlight. Iris watched him flick his lighter alive, inhaling deeply and lowering the cigarette.

"Can I have one?" She asked. He paused from walking and she turned towards him.

"Thought you didn't like it?" Jack cocked a bold brow up.

"I wanna try again," Iris looked so small in his jacket. It was enough to make Jack grin, "You've renewed my look on a lot of things. Art and cigarettes."

Jack snorted and pulled his pack out, handing a cigarette to her. He stepped in closer and held his lighter up. Iris looked directly at him as he lit the end of her cigarette. She took a slow draw and lowered the cigarette. She coughed for a slight moment. Jack smiled and rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly.

"Don't make yourself sick," Jack said, patting her on the arm, "Come on, let's keep going. Your mother is probably wondering where you are."

"She knows I'm with you," She smirked, glancing at him as she continued the cigarette, "She trusts you, Jack."

Jack laughed, "I guess she does since I haven't made off into the night with Frenchie's hundreds of dollars worth of equipment."

Iris chuckled at this as they crossed the road, her heels echoing on the asphalt, "Like I said, you're a good guy, Jack Dawson," Playfully, she linked her arms through his, holding his arm close to her. He glanced at her fleetingly, his eyes following the wave in her blonde hair, "I really had a lot of fun tonight," She told him.

"Yeah, me too," He replied, lowering his cigarette from his mouth. He was acutely aware of the way Iris' slender hands felt against the cotton sleeve of his shirt, "Felt good to get out for once and do something other than buy paintbrushes and canvas."

"Can we do this again?" Her big blue eyes peered up at him, "I like spending time with you."

Jack looked forward now as they continued towards the corner of Iris' neighborhood. He licked his lips for a moment and cleared his throat, "Yeah, maybe next time Frenchie can come with us."

"What about just you and me?" Iris asked.

They made it to the corner and parted, looking at each other in the pool of the streelight. Jack sheepishly put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Iris. I value you as a friend, you know that, right?"

Iris dropped her half-smoked cigarette to the ground and used her pointed heel to crush it. She hugged herself and looked to Jack, "I get it. You're distracted, you're guarded. But you aren't aware of the affect you have on people."

"I look at myself and see a mess, Iris," Jack shook his head.

"I don't," Iris insisted, "I see a man who is trying. Who needs a break. You're all wound up. You need to relax, Jack. Give into something good."

Jack glanced into the darkness surrounding them, pensively licking his lips, "I'm sorry, but you're going to know my answer."

"I'll wait for you, then."

"I don't want you to do that," Jack was nearly exasperated, "There's no deadline on these feelings I still have."

"What is it about me that's not as good as Rose?" Iris tilted her head to the side, casting a shadow across her cheek.

"There's nothing to compare," Jack shook his head, "It'd be like comparing apples and oranges, Iris."

"Was it her curly red hair? Her big green eyes?" Iris continued, "Was it her lips or her pale complexion? Was it her curves you so gracefully draw?"

Jack took a drag of his cigarette, "I'd say her looks had the least amount to do with it. It was all her personality, her mind. She was something special. That's it. I connected with her in a way I have never with anyone before."

"Can we at least try to form that connection?" Iris whispered. She stepped closer to Jack and placed her hands on his chest. He knew exactly where this was going as she lifted herself to the balls of his feet. This time, though, Jack didn't recoil away. Instead, he gave into it. He placed his hands on her hips and dipped his head down, meeting her in the middle. Their lips pressed together. Jack closed his eyes and did everything in his power to shut his mind down. He felt her fingers gently skim over his skin as they flattened to his neck. The kiss drew on for nearly ten seconds before they drew back, "Did that spark anything at all?" She whispered, her face inches from him.

Jack stared into her eyes for a moment before he parted from her, walking towards the edge of the streetlight, "I'll see you tomorrow, Iris."

All she could see was the end of his cigarette bobbing into the night time as he walked away from her.


	15. Rolling Tides

Chapter Fifteen

_August 29th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

A knock on Rose's apartment door drew her from the Sherlock Holmes' novel she was viciously sucked into. The entire time she had been reading, she had pretended to be Sherlock's assistant, following him on all his crazy schemes, focused on nothing but the investigation at hand. She looked over her shoulder and furrowed her brow for a moment before she closed the book and crossed to answer the door.

Tim was standing there, smiling as normal, "Hey, you. How are you doing?" He strode past her into the apartment and glanced towards her pile of books that were always present. Tim paused and reached for the Sherlock Holmes book laying on the couch, "Did I interrupt? This is a great book, I read it a few months ago."

Rose grinned and closed the door now, coming to the side of the couch with Tim, "I was finally able to find a decently priced one at a re-sell store," Rose told him, "I've always wanted to read it."

Tim glanced to her for a moment, "I'll buy you the books."

"Gosh, please don't," Rose shook her head, "They're horribly expensive, Tim," She put her hands on her hips now, "And besides, _your _birthday is coming up in a few days. I should be getting you something, not the other way around."

"What? How did you know about my birthday?" Tim lowered the book.

"I asked your mother," Rose shrugged, crossing to the kitchen tile in her stocking feet, "Do you want some tea?" She called over her shoulder.

"Sure," Tim put the book back onto the couch and came into the kitchen, "So, what do you have in mind for my birthday?" He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's a surprise," Rose told him, pointedly looking over her shoulder, "Don't expect much, by the way."

"Anything you do for me will be wonderful," Tim approached her from behind, gently looping his arms across her stomach, "Even if you just show up to my office and give me one of those smiles," He nudged his forehead into the bun on the back of her head.

Rose's heart was racing wildly in her chest. She gently gripped Tim's arm, relishing in the warmth he radiated. She tilted her head back to brush her forehead against him. She snickered, reaching her hand up now, "When is the last time you shaved?"

"Oh, you don't like it?" He laughed, rubbling his prickly jaw against her. Rose giggled, giving him a playful shrug. She continued on pouring their tea and slid a small rammican of sugar cubes to Tim, handing him a mug with a green stripe along the rim. Tim put one sugar cube in and stirred, while Rose added three, "Sweet tea, huh?" He said, "You're crazy."

"Hey, it tastes better this way," Rose said, watching her cubes dissolve in the steaming tea, "You're the one who likes two glugs of creamer and _half _a sugar cube in his coffee."

"Glugs?" Tim echoed, trying his hardest not to laugh, "Is that your unit of measurement for me at the diner? Is that why no other waitresses can do it right?"

"You're my customer always," Rose said, leaning her hip against the counter and holding her mug close, gently blowing steam away, "Doesn't matter what section you sit in."

"Well, lucky me, because I always have a great breakfast."

"Maggie said something about it being important you had a good breakfast," Rose arched her eyebrows as she took a drink of her tea.

Tim laughed sheepishly, "My sister's are a font of knowledge, aren't they?"

"Oh, you know," Rose furrowed her brow together, lowering her mug, "I don't think I asked why you were here intially. Anything going on?"

"No, no," Tim shook his head, "I was leaving work early and thought of you. Just wanted to drop by and see you. I haven't seen you outside of the diner in over a week. I just missed you, wanted to check in."

Rose nodded, casting her eyes down for a moment, "I'm not the best at staying in contact, am I? I have to use my landlord's phone and I feel like such a bother. I should get better at atleast sending a note or something, I'm sorry."

"I just don't want us to drift away, Rose," Tim told her, placing his hand on the counter, "You mean a great deal to me. I can't just not see you or talk to you. I'm involved now."

Rose felt faint for a moment after he said that to her. She thought her legs would give out as her body tingled, a chill creeping over her bones. Rose stared intently at Tim as he stood before her. But in the forefront of her mind, all she could see was Jack that fateful night, in his cotton vest and maroon shirt, edging towards her. Rose felt her breathing shallow.

"I'm sorry," was all Rose could manage to say.

"Rose, I don't think you've told me everything that bothers you," Tim said slowly.

Rose's green eyes darted to him, investigating him thoroughly, "Tim, I'm..." She lowered her eyes and sighed, shaking her head, "I told you when we started seeing each other, there are _a lot _of demons from my past, always creeping back up on me. I've made mistakes. Mistakes I think about every day," She clenched her hands for a moment and walked away from the counter, cradling her hand in her palm.

"Is this about Cal Hockley?" Tim asked, remaining in place.

Rose paused and slowly turned to face Tim again. She shook her head, "No. It's not."

"Then who? Your mother?" Tim pressed, eager to know what he could do for her.

"Not her, either," Rose lowered her eyes to the tile.

"Who?" Tim now crossed to Rose, placing both his hands on her shoulders.

"Me," Rose said, tears springing to her eyes, "It's about _me, _Tim. I don't accept who I am as a person. I wanted to be free from my old life only to fall into the same miserable trap! What was my grand escape for!? I'm just a waitress who lives in a small apartment. I'm just a speck of dust in this city."

"Rose, Rose..." Tim drew her into him, pressing his hands flat to her head and shoulders. Rose gave into her cries and wrapped her arms around Tim, "You shouldn't have to feel like that. You're not that at all," Tim told her, resting his chin ontop of her head, "You're the only person in this city I care about. Out of the thousands of them, you're the most important. We all have to start somewhere, right? I was a bus boy at a restaraunt while I was in law school," Tim tilted her back to look into her eyes, "This is just a precursor. Things will get better. I know they will."

Tim parted from her suddenly, walking into the living room and straight to her desk. Rose came to the edge of the tile, watching him with a perplexed look as he moved her desk weight and grabbed the stack of papers there, "Is this a finished short story?" He asked her.

"Uh, yes, but I haven't proof read it," Rose shook her head, "It's a rough draft."

Tim smirked, reaching for his briefcase by the coat wrack, "I have a client who works as a literary agent for a company. I'm giving this to him."

"What!" Rose nearly hit the floor. She staggered over to Tim and grabbed hold of his briefcase from his hand, hugging it against her, "No, no. Please don't. It's no good, just read it for yourself. I was just playing around with tone and flow."

"No, I'm taking it," He deftly removed the briefcase from her arms and grinned, gingerly tucking it away, "Like I said, we all start somewhere. You've always wanted to be an author, right? Well, everyone will know you had the willpower to pursue it while working as a waitress full-time."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at Tim, "They're going to laugh and throw it straight in the bin, Tim."

"You don't know that," Tim leaned in towards her with his eyebrows arched, "Say they love it. Then what?"

"But they won't," Rose deadpanned.

"Say they do, though," Tim wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "Just imagine, seeing your name on the new release board outside the bookstore. Rose Dawson!" Rose giggled at the thought. Tim grinned and pecked her on the forehead, "Trust me, Rose. You'll mean something to this city, I promise."

Rose looked to him and smiled weakly, "I'm sorry..."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," He said, gently kissing her forehead again.

...

_September 1st, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

"Jack!" Frenchie sprang into the doorway to the backroom. Jack looked up from where he was crouched on the ground between paint cans, "I changed my mind on the violet. I was a light pink! Like blush!"

"What! Are you serious" Jack sighed, showing him the dark purple he had in a bucket in his hands, "I don't have anymore white, I'll have to go to the store."

Jack set the bucket down and reached for a rag, wiping his hands and following the frenzied Frenchie out to the main workspace. Iris was sitting on top of the table, just staring at the paintings. Frenchie marched up the scene of the girls on the hay cart, "Her shirt should not be purple. I think it would be too bold. She is not the main subject of the painting."

"So... her little sister is?" Iris asked, cocking her head to the side.

"No!" Frenchie turned towards Iris, "It's supposed to be the nature! So the little girl's shirt is yellow and the older one should have a light pink!"

"Fine, fine," Jack nodded, unrolling his sleeves and buttoning them at the wrist. He knew better than to try to question Frenchie, "I'll be right back. Do you need _anything _else, Frenchie?" Jack held his hand up towards him, "Take a moment and think. Any special brushes? Gloss? Anything?"

"No, no," Frenchie waved his hand dismissively, his eyes glued to the painting, "Just supplies to make the paint left on the list."

"Alright," Jack ducked under the worktable and reached for a small dark green lock box nestled in the back. He withdrew some money, sticking it in his pocket and stood up, dusting his pants off, "I'll be back in a bit."

"Want some company?" Iris asked, dangling her legs off the side of the table.

"Yeah, sure," Jack said, looking over his shoulder, "If you feel like hauling paint cans."

...

"We need all of these?" Iris asked, her face red and pinched as she hauled two paint cans beside Jack to the door of the studio. She set them down and let out a long huff, seating herself on the concrete amongst their haul. Eight trips later, they had accumulated over a dozen paint cans.

"Yup," Jack pulled his list from his pocket, examining it, "I think I have enough to mix everything without having to go back," After Jack tucked the list away, he felt something else in his pocket and withdrew the left over dollars he had from the purchase, "Hey, wanna go get ice cream?" He asked, holding the money up.

"Ice cream?" Iris looked up at him, "Where?"

"There's a creamery not far," Jack offered his hand out, "What? You gonna turn down free ice cream?"

Iris laughed, grabbing hold of his hand and allowing him to haul her to her feet.

...

_September 3rd, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose sat outside on a bench near Tim's law office, simply watching the building. She had been there for nearly an hour, waiting for the moment Tim left to catch lunch. That's when she would spring. Meanwhile, she people watched. Several walked by, typically men in business suits. Occasionally there were women with frilly umbrellas walking by with their children. Rose readjusted herself, her spine begging for a break from the hard wood of the bench.

Suddenly, the light caught the movement of the glass door moving. Rose held her breath and sat forward. It was Tim. He had the newspaper jammed in his face as he set off down the sidewalk, probably to the nearest diner. Rose sprang to her feet and raced across the street, stepping onto the path beside him. Hanging on her arm was a picnic basket. She had spent all morning, and a good amount of money, on a nice lunch for them to have in a nearby park.

Rose continued behind him with a big grin, watching him walk without the slightest clue. He was going in the way of the park she had mind and she giggled to herself. He was falling right into her plan. Rose was feeling good the crisp bright day. She had awoken happy of the idea of it being the day Tim was given to the world. It felt good to be doing something for someone else for a change.

Finally, Tim came to stop at a street corner, glancing around. Rose came up on his side and gripped his arm, catching his attention. He turned towards her with his eyebrows arched, some brown hair falling across his forehead, "Hey, happy birthday," Rose said, leaning forward and pecking him on the lips, "Were you heading out for lunch?"

"Yeah," Tim nodded, now getting over his surprise. A grin spread across his face, "Would you like to join me?"

"I have a better idea," Rose now held the picnic basket up towards him.

Tim look to it and his smile got even bigger, "You know the way to a man's heart."

Rose laughed and took hold of his hand. They crossed the street and went to the closest park. It was quiet since it was the middle of the day. They picked a spot in the shade of a giant oak tree. Rose spread out a quilt she had brought with her and set the basket down. They seated themselves on either side of it.

"Well, I hope it all tastes good," Rose said, opening the basket, "I spent all morning working on it. So hopefully it paid off. But first," Rose raised a bottle of champagne out and passed him a flute glass, "A toast to your birthday. Would you like to pop the cork?" She grinned and handed him the bottle, which he gladly opened.

"Rose, wow," Tim shook his head as he filled their glasses, propping the bottle up in the basket, "I'm just blown away you've done this for me. Thank you. This is the best gift ever."

"Oh, come on," Rose laughed sheepishly, "You'll eat it and it'll all be gone."

"But," Tim held his glass up for a moment, "I got to enjoy it with you. My greatest gift."

Rose felt herself blush madly, her face growing warm beneath his soft look. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin and glass, "How old are you today, Tim?"

"Thirty-one," He said, "I thought thirty was scary. Thirty-one is a whole new world."

Rose chuckled at this, "Happy thirty-first birthday, Tim," They clanged their glasses together.

...

_September 9th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

"I can't do it anymore," Frenchie sighed, tossing his art palette onto the table. He rubbed his eyes, uncaring of any paint on his hands, "Jack, it's nearly midnight. I gotta go home and sleep. If I do another paintbrush, my head is going to pop."

Jack looked down towards his boss from the ladder he was perched on, touching up the hay in the cart behind the little girls. He was completely unbothered by the hour. He often lost track of time and didn't keep the most scheduled routine of life. He shrugged and nodded, "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I don't know," Frenchie sighed as he unbuttoned his dirty smock, discarding it in a chair. He ruffled his white undershirt briefly and turned back to Jack, "I think I need a day or so. You know, reflection time. I have to be sure we're using our time wisely."

"Don't you think it'd be wiser to keep painting so we don't fall behind?" Jack asked.

"You've said it before, great art can't be rushed," Frenchie called up to him, "Take the day for yourself, too. We've been working like crazy."

"Well, are you at least happy with the color of the girl's shirts?" Jack pointed towards them.

"Yes, yes," Frenchie nodded, putting his hands on his hips, "It'll be fine. Let's not think about it for a day, okay? Get some rest. Do whatever you need to. Good night, Jack."

"Night!" Jack called as Frenchie disappeared out the door. Jack did a few more brush strokes before he finally sighed and climbed down the ladder. He laid the ladder flat and tossed their palettes in the deep sink on the far wall. He glanced around the studio before he flicked the light off, heading up the dimly lit stairwell to his room. He kicked the door shut behind him, unclipping his suspenders and tucking his shirt. He ruffled his hair as he grabbed his cigarettes from ontop of his dresser. He reached up towards the ceiling, pushing open the hatch. He climbed up the creaky steps and stepped out onto the roof.

He shook his lighter, sparking a dying flame that was just enough to get the cigarette lit. The wind snagged the smoke away quickly as he exhaled, slowly wandering around the roof, looking towards the surrounding buildings. It was so quiet, Jack felt his ears ringing. He tilted his head back to watch the stars. The sound of the nearby river reminded him of that night of star-gazing on the _Titanic_. Jack paused, the wind blowing his bangs across his forehead. He had captured a shooting star that night, he was certain. She looked nearly angelic. When he had first seen her dangling off the back of the ship, he thought he was meerly imagining her. Her red hair was windblown and tangled, but glowed ferociously in the lit deck aboard the ship. Her skin looked like porcelain, gleaming, without blemish. Jack was convinced she was not really there until she looked at him with those piercing green eyes. They were so wet, she could have flooded the Atlantic Ocean. She looked so hurt. So desperate.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, his cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked back to the stars with a look of hurt, "Why?" He whispered, his voice carried away into the wind. He lowered his cigarette and ground his teeth together for a moment, "Why her?" He said to the stars, "Why not me? Why couldn't you have taken me!?"

He threw his cigarette onto the roof and watched the wind sweep it off the side. Jack shook his head and kicked a nearby vent, letting out a ragged sigh, "I will _never _understand or accept that she had to die," Jack glanced around the vacant roof, "It should have been me."


	16. Milestones

Chapter Sixteen

_October 2nd, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose found herself at Tim's house that evening making dinner. They had gotten off work around the same time and Rose had decided to put in effort to make herself stay out of her apartment. When she was there, she only found herself wanting to lay down and stare at pictures of Jack. But she knew it wasn't good for her. The dreadful feeling about him was ever more present as his birthday approached. Last year, it had been horrible. And still, this year, seeing the date on the calendar, it's significance still weighed on her heavily. Part of her hated herself for going to Wisconsin for those documents, but at the same time she was grateful for the few keepsakes she had left of him. She was trying her hardest, however, to look forward to a future. One she was unsure of, but slowly and surely, she was building confidence to get off the beaten path and make her own. She found herself steadily growing towards that goal by being around the good-natured Tim.

"How's it coming?" Tim asked, appearing from the stairs with his coat draped over his arm.

"Fine," Rose called, "I'd say the stew is almost ready. Just a few more minutes for the potatoes to soften," She turned to gaze at him across the kitchen island.

"Hey, I got a surprise for you," Tim grinned, laying his coat down on a chair.

Curious, Rose set her wooden spoon down. She approached the kitchen island, placing both her palms down on the counter, "You have my attention. What would that be, Mr. Calvert?"

"Well, it's not for another month, but I'm excited, so I have to show you now," Tim reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing two glossy tickets and a small pamphlet, "It's for an art show here in New York City. It's not snooty art or anything like that," He explained as Rose took a ticket into her hand to inspect, "These are local artists just trying to show the world what they can do. That's my favorite kind of art."

Rose smiled and reached for the pamplet, "I've never heard of these artists," Rose said, reading through it, "That will be great. A fresh perspective. New art entirely," Rose grinned at him, "That's much better than going to an event at a museum to see the same Van Gogh paintings we've all seen dozens of times," Rose set the pamplet down on the counter, "This sounds great, Tim. Thanks so much for buying the tickets. When is it?"

"November 10th," Tim told her, "We can make a whole evening out of it. We can go out to dinner and the art show."

"Mmm, very traditional," Rose grinned as she returned to stirring the stew, "Another trick from those novels you read?"

"Oh man, I'm going to get Maggie for that one," Tim laughed.

...

_October 8th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose had just finished checking her empty mailbox and was beginning up the hall for her apartment, when her name was shrieked, bouncing off all the walls. She hunched her shoulders for a moment and turned to see Liliana in the front foyer, her leather helmet tucked under her arm.

"Yoo-hoo, Rose! I finally made it home from school fast enough!" She was nearly breathless, grinning at Rose as she slumped her backpack onto the ground, "It's that time of the year again! You remember, right?" Rose sighed and grinned, gripping the strap of her purse.

"Of course. It's time for your birthday again," Rose said as Liliana fished into her backpack, slamming books and pencils around to find what she was looking for. Finally, she found a light pink envelope and took it to Rose, leaving everything discarded in the front foyer. Rose noted that her name looked to be penned much better than last years invitation.

"I hope you can make it," Liliana told her, smiling sweetly and innocently, "Maybe you can bring your beau by, too. You're still seein' him, right?"

"Tim, yes," Rose nodded, tucking the invitation in the pocket of her coat, "I'll see if he can make it. Thanks for the invitation, Liliana," Rose turned and began putting her key in her apartment door. Liliana stayed where she was, watching the back of Rose.

"Are you going to marry Tim?" Liliana asked.

Rose paused and peered over her shoulder, "I don't know, Liliana."

"Well, I think you should," Liliana put her hands on her hips.

"Why's that?" Rose now turned towards the girl and arched her eyebrows, genuinely curious in her answer, though, she had to admit, she wasn't expecting much.

"First of all, you've been seeing him for awhile now. He was at my birthday last year, so that's tellin' you something," Liliana came closer to Rose, peering up at her. Her blond hair was held back by a green headband to match the green and black plaid velvet dress she was wearing, "Second of all, he looks like all the hero's from the books. You know, tall, dark, handsome, _mysterious,_" Liliana counted off on her fingers. Rose grinned as Liliana continued, "And three, I wanna be the flower girl, so why aren't you two married yet?!" She put her hands back to her hips, "It's obvious you two are in love. What's the hold up!"

"There's a lot more that goes into a relationship that leads to marriage than you think," Rose told her, nearly in a maternal way, "It's not like in the books, Liliana. I know you and your sisters are ferocious readers. I saw all the books in the apartment. I'm the same way, books everywhere. But you have to understand they're for _enjoyment. _The man is always going to get the girl and they'll live happily ever after. But in real life, there's more to consider."

"So, you don't think Tim is the one?" Liliana's eyebrow furrowed.

Rose shifted the weight between her feet for a second and shook her head, slightly flustered, "No, that's not what I'm saying," She forced out, "What I'm saying is these things take time. And we all have our own timeline. When the timing is right, I'll know. Just like you will in the future when you meet the man of your dreams."

"I hope he's blond," Liliana grinned, "Blond hair and bright blue eyes. That's what my dream man would look like."

Rose sighed and smiled, pressing her hand to Liliana's shoulder, her heart pounding in her chest, "Blond hair and blue eyes _does _make for a good look on a man."

...

_October 10th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose finished making Tim's coffee and delivered a warm croissant to a patron's table before going to his. He grinned up at her from his newspaper as she smoothed her apron and withdrew an opened light pink envelope, offering it out to Tim with a smirk. He pulled the card free from the envelope, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, this is the girl from last year, right?" Tim asked, grinning up at Rose.

"Lucky us, we have been invited to the party of the year twice now," Rose laughed.

"Hey, she's turning sixteen this year, huh? Let me buy her gift, I know just what to get."

"Oh?" Rose cocked an eyebrow up, "What's that?"

"It's an old Calvert tradition for the girls," Tim said, "I'll see you this Saturday?"

"Same as last year," She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

...

_October 14th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack and Frenchie steadily carried a canvas to lean against the wall beside the door to the studio. They both took a moment to breath, glancing to the twelve finished paintings. Frenchie walked down the line, inspecting each one. Jack put his hands on hips and simply waited, watching every step his boss took. He paused, however, and looked to the debutaunte scene Frenchie had yet to get to. He was busy admiring the water hole scene that had many heads bobbing in it. Jack gnawed on his lip for a moment when he realized that four out of the twelve debutauntes were vibrant red heads. It looked out of place to Jack. He hadn't realized what he had been doing when he had done it. He thought, surely, Frenchie would demand it be re-done. But Frenchie turned to it and then clapped his hands together, coming back to Jack.

"They look wonderful, Jack! These are going to look great at the art show," He nudged Jack with his elbow, "Maybe some of them will sell!"

"Oh, I don't have a doubt in my mind," Jack crossed his arms over his chest, "We hopefully won't come home with any of them."

"Just two more!" Frenchie said, brushing past Jack and going to their cluttered work space, "The fishing on the lake scene and the park of dogs. We can do it!"

"I gotta go make some green for the grass and brown for the dog's fur," Jack said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the backroom, "You'll know where to find me."

"Okay, sure," Frenchie was already distracted, "I'm going to paint the base, then, to the dog park."

"Sounds good," Jack replied, collecting some buckets and draping some towels over his shoulder. He walked into the backroom and paused when he saw Iris sitting up on the window sill, the large window propped open. She had her eyes closed and her head pressed to the pane. Her shoes were discarded on the floor. Jack and Frenchie had been painting for nearly thirteen hours. Iris was trying to be supportive, but fatigue was obviously wearing on her. Jack smirked, setting the buckets down and crossing to her on the sill.

Jack gently reached out, pressing his hand to her arm, "Hey, Iris," He whispered, giving her small push. She stirred for a moment and turned her eyes on Jack, her face turning beet red, "Hey, wake-y, wake-y."

"Oh, Jack," She sat up on the sill, her knees coming towards her chest, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to doze off."

"It's alright, it's been a long day," Jack told her, smiling all the while, "Why don't you head home? Frenchie and I are startin' another painting."

"Another?" Iris was incredulous as she reached for her shoes. Her arm fell just short, however. Jack knelt, grabbing the black heels, and handed them to Iris, "Thank you- but Jack, Frenchie needs to sleep. Two paintings left? I'd say you could do that in a month's time."

"Yeah, well," Jack shrugged, "We're on a roll," He crossed to his buckets and began wiping them down, "Besides, if we finish early, then Frenchie will have time to do all his meticulous finishing details. That way he'll be feelin' sky-high about 'em when we take them to the show."

"Well, if you think it's worth it..." Iris said, slipping her heels on and leaping off the sill, "I guess I'll head home. I think I've given enough moral support for today."

"You're relieved, soldier," Jack joked, his eyes down on the bucket.

"See you tomorrow?" She asked, coming to stand behind his crouched body. She reached down, pressing her hand gently to his shoulder. Jack peered up at her.

"Same place, as usual."

...

_October 16th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Tim knocked on the door while Rose was busy heating her curling iron on the stove top. She called for him to let himself in. He came through the door in a dark grey woolen three piece suit, something red tucked under his arm. He grinned when he saw Rose, closing the door behind him and coming to the edge of the kitchen tile.

"Can you believe it? It's been one whole year since our first date," Tim grinned. Rose laughed, lifting the curling rod and twirling a tuft of hair around it.

"So, what did you get for sixteen-year old Liliana?" Rose arched her eyebrows at him, "I'm dying of curosity as to what the Calvert tradition is."

Tim pulled it out from under his arm and offered it towards Rose. She set the curling rod down and fluffed her hair, crossing and taking the package into her hand. There was a large velvet bow tied across all four sides of the rectangular gift. Beneath it was a well-made leather journal with flowers carved into it. And lying diagonally across the top of the journal was a nice black and shiny fountain pen to accompany it. She slowly looked to Tim.

"When a girl turns sixteen in the Calvert family, she got a journal?"

"Yeah, there's a card with what my dad would say when he presented it," Tim said, pointing towards the side of the bow, "I think it's something Liliana could appreciate as she becomes a woman in this world."

Rose flashed a small smile at him and reached for the card. His handwriting was so pristine and neat, she was nearly jealous of his penmen skills.

_Dearest Liliana,_

_ I hope this journal finds you well. My father had a tradition of giving each one of my sister's one when they turned sixteen and I wanted to pass this tradition onto you. This is what my father said every time a sister received one, like it was their right of passage. I wanted to be sure you got your turn, so you now you know you're a real woman. As my father would say, 'On this day of your sixteenth birthday, you've crossed a milestone and entered a new chapter of life. As you grow to become a woman in this world, just know, everything isn't sugar and dolls. Instead, you will face times that make you question who you are, wonder what's to become of you. These are feelings you, as a woman, cannot show weakness to in this world. Any self-doubt that might plague you is to go into this journal. You are to release it through the ink of this pen, not allow it to grip you. And one day, I'd like you to find this dusty journal packed in a box in the cellar. I want you to read it and reflect. I want you to laugh at it. On this day of your sixteenth birthday, you are given your ticket to freedom in this world'._

_ Happy Birthday, Liliana._

_ xoxo, Tim and Rose_

Rose's green eyes darted up to Tim, slowly lowering the card back to it's place beneath the bow. She swallowed roughly and glanced to the journal, then back to him.

"I think she'll love it," Rose breathed, "What a grand tradition to have, Tim."

"I only hope to do the same if I have a daughter," Tim grinned, making Rose's body heat up.

...

"Daddy, I think it's time for presents," Liliana said sweetly, looking up from her slice of cake, baked by Suzette's magical touch. A lot of parents smiled behind their glasses of wine and party punch, glancing towards Edgar who was grinning, twirling his whiskey around.

"Alright, pumpkin," He finally said, "Finish your cake and we'll do presents."

Liliana began scarfing the rest of her cake down. Her sister, Cat, peered at her as if she was disgusting, taking her time to finish the rest of her cake. Liliana carelessly wiped the crumbs from her face and darted towards the couch nearest to the table. Parents and friends migrated that way. Many adults seated themselves in chairs or stood at the back of them. All the girls and boys settled on the floor in front of Liliana, as if they were her audience. She was just reaching for the closest present when her father stepped between her.

"Nuh-uh. Not yet, young lady. I want you to first thank everybody for comin' and thank them for the presents," Edgar told her. Liliana blushed furiously and batted her eyes towards the crowd. Rose smiled behind her wine glass. That girl had a way with people.

"Thank you, everyone," Liliana said bashfully, "You really _do _help it be the party of the year."

A laugh ran amongst the adults. Edgar grinned at his daughter lovingly and handed her the first present, which was small and wrapped in newspaper, "This one is from Shirley and her parents."

Liliana excited ripped it open and gasped in delight, holding it up, "It's a brooch! Shirley, I didn't think I told you I collected them," She smiled adoringly at it. Edgar passed her another gift from her friend Ellen, "Oh, earrings. They're darling. Thank you, Ellen."

"Hm, oh, this one is from Rose and Tim," Edgar said, holding the present towards her.

Liliana's eyes lit up and she reached for the present, holding it against her chest for a moment, "You two actually got me something?"

Rose and Tim cackled at this. Tim licked his lips and grinned, "Of course we did. Didn't all of us here bring you gifts?"

Liliana blushed and looked to Tim before she reached for the card. Everyone in the room watched in silence as she read the rather long note. Liliana's smile grew bigger and bigger. She tore the ribbon away and held the pen up, watching the light reflect on it. She then opened the journal and ran her palm along the page. Liliana set her new gifts to side and bolted from the couch. She raced to Tim and Rose, throwing her arms around both of them.

"Thank you, thank you!" She whispered. Tim grinned and placed his hand on her head. Rose stared at Tim as he gazed down on the young girl who was making her descent into womanhood. Something about him. He had a way with people. He just knew things. And that was incredible to Rose.


	17. Complacency

Chapter Seventeen

_November 1st, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

When Rose got home from work that afternoon, she found herself feeling sleepy. She couldn't guess why because she had been sleeping and eating right. She figured she simply had the November blues that plagued her last year. She boiled herself a pot of coffee and lowered herself onto the couch, glancing at the overcast day outside. Rose decided to light so candles. She propped her feet up on a stack of books and slouched into the couch, balancing her coffee on her stomach. She let out a long sigh, blowing a bang out of her face.

_Here comes your birthday again and yet... I don't feel any less sad... any less remorseful, _Rose thought, watching the steam rise from her mug, _I wonder where you and I would be if you were still here, Jack. In the mountains? In the sweltering heat of the south? On the beaches of Santa Monica...? I wish you could talk to me. How dearly I would love to hear that voice of yours again, feel those hands... _She closed her eyes longingly, pleading her mind to procure an image of him.

_I need a sign, Jack. Desperately. How do I know Tim is the right one for me? How can anybody be after I met you? _She furrowed her brow together, her eyes hovering on the low hanging gray clouds, threatening the city with a shower, _When do the thoughts of you recede? When will they stop impacting me so negatively? I love you, I truly do, but I'm a world of hurt and I want more than anything for it to stop. Give me a sign, Jack. What's my key to happiness?_

A knock on her door startled her. She jolted forward, nearing spilling hot coffee all over her wrinkled waitress uniform. She took a few moments to breath and come back to reality. Rose balanced her mug precariously on top of a stack of books and rushed to the door, throwing it open. It was Tim, to her surprise. She bit her lip for the slightest moment. She was so exhausted, she didn't think she could play pretend for one more moment of the day.

"Hey, Rose, did you just get home?" He asked, his hands in his tan trench coat pockets.

"Yes," She nodded, "it was a very busy day."

"Yeah, you look like you could use a good night's sleep," Tim adjusted his glasses, "Maybe today isn't a good day, then. I was going to take you out shopping. I was going to pick up some more suits for myself, I thought it'd be nice to buy you something you like for the art show."

"Oh, my dresses aren't good enough?" Rose smirked, leaning her head against the door.

"No, of course not..." Tim stuttered for a moment and then caught himself, smiling sheepishly, "When's the last time you got a brand new dress in the past year, Rose? Let's pick something out for you, something you can _feel _beautiful in. Don't even dare look at a price tag, okay?"

Rose shifted her feet back and forth, lowering her eyes. She couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. She chuckled and nodded, "Okay, I think I have enough energy to go shopping."

"That's my girl!" Tim took hold of her hand, giving it a good squeeze.

...

The large department store Tim took her to was one she had never been in before. It was just a bit north of downtown on a more luxury scale. The floors were freshly polished marble with grand pillars reaching towards the roof that was nearly twenty feet above, with rafters, and a giant skylight. Rose gawked upwards at the light white pouring down on them from above.

"Here, let's try this store for you," Tim steered her to the right, towards a store with thick red carpeting running through it. Rose strolled along the racks. When Tim was distracted, Rose quickly checked the price tags. They were all much more expensive than she would have liked. She lead Tim all through the store, pretending to really be considering a dress, but the price tags only grew steeper in price by the point she reached the back of the store.

"I don't think there's anything in here for me," Rose finally told Tim.

"Really? I saw a lot of nice options," Tim replied, running his hands along the dresses, "Do you like blue and white stripes? This one with the tulle sleeves would be nice. Has an A-skirt, so it's have just a good amount of volume to it," He pulled the dress off the rack, holding it up for Rose.

"Don't tell me you also helped your mother sew?" Rose laughed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I did, actually," Tim lowered the dress, "I don't know much, but I know this would look good on you."

"Not for forty-five dollars," Rose told him with arched eyebrows.

"I told you not to look at the price tag," Tim put the dress back on the rack, "Rose," He approached her, grabbing hold of her wrists and sliding down to lace his fingers through her's, "You don't have to worry about money. Not in the slightest. I've never told you how much I make, but I'm comfortable and stable. Stable enough I can pass it onto to you, too. I can support us."

"Yeah, but," Rose lowered her eyes, "I want to prove I can take care of myself."

"Oh you have," Tim assured her, cupping her cheek in his palm, "You have and then some. I'm talking to a girl who risked it all because it wasn't what she wanted."

Rose slowly looked up at him, gazing into his hazel eyes, "I don't want you to spend this kind of money on me. I can buy it myself."

"But I want to," Tim's voice was no more than a husky whisper, "And I won't let you buy it for yourself. Let me do it for you, Rose. Please? I'm the one whose taking you to the art show, afterall."

"Can we settle for a store with better priced dresses?" Rose asked softly.

Tim sighed and grinned, "Okay, I know another one, come on."

...

Iris and Frenchie sat at the communal table in the work space, both enjoying a cold Coca-Cola. Jack had gone to pick up lunch for everyone. The paintings were all just about completed. Iris could tell her brother was tried, exhausted, from all the energy and time put into his work, but she could tell under there, he was very pleased with what he and Jack were able to produce.

Iris thumbed the lip of her glass bottle for a moment, looking to Frenchie, "You know... Jack's birthday is coming up on the eighth."

"Is it really?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows after a sip of his soda, "Heh... funny. We never even asked each other when our birthdays were. It's the little things you forget to talk to people about sometimes. Well, we should do something for him. A night out. It could be a joint celebration for the art show to come."

"I'm gonna bake him a cake," Iris beamed at Frenchie, "We should make a whole day out of it for him. Besides, he's helped you so much, he deserves it."

"I agree," Frenchie nodded, "He's good at making me look great."

Iris rolled her eyes melodramatically, drinking her Coca-Cola with a smile on her face.

...

"What about this one?" Rose pulled a light pink dress off that rack that had two blue stripes towards the end of the skirt. Tim put his hands on his hips and shook his head, "What's wrong with it?"

"You just deserve to wear something much nicer," Tim told her as she put it back on the rack, "You are a queen yourself. I want you to feel that way, too."

"What, are you taking Cinderella to the ball?" Rose laughed openly, shifting through a few more dresses.

"That's how I want you to feel!" Tim said, throwing his hands at his sides, "For one night, I want you to put a special dress on and have a fun time, give in all your thoughts to having a great dinner and seeing some great art."

"Surely one of these dresses are good enough," Rose told him, still looking around.

"Rose, I want to spend more than _fifteen _dollars on a dress for you. That's how much I pay for a tie for gosh sake's," Tim put his hands on her shoulder, "Let's go somewhere a little bit pricier than this one. I won't go above forty, I promise. I want you have more than just another cotton dress."

The next place Tim took Rose to had dark grey wallpaper with light grey stripes and a black carpet. The dresses seemed just as extravagant as the store they had first visited. Upon sneaking a glance at a price tag, she felt a little bit better choosing a dress from this store.

"What do you think?" Rose glanced over her shoulder, running her hands along the cool fabric, "Long sleeve? Short sleeve? No sleeve? Three-quarter sleeve?"

Tim laughed, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck, "It's whatever you want. Whatever speaks to you the most on any one of these racks. Try some on."

"Which color?" Rose held up a blue velvet three-quarter sleeve dress with a lace sweetheart neckline. The sash was silken blue to match the color of the fabric, the skirt had a bit of floof to it. In her right hand, she had an identical one, but green.

"Try the green," Tim said, "It matches your eyes."

Tim sat outside on a black leather ottoman while Rose went to the dressing him. He set his elbows on his knees and glanced around the store at the few other patrons. He took his glasses off and cleaned them with his handkerchief, sitting up straighter on the ottoman now. He was excited for the growing future. Tim grinned just thinking about Rose. In the next moment, she called for him and he stood, barely peaking his door into the corridor of dressing rooms.

"It's just me, you can come in," Rose said. Tim came full around the corner and saw Rose holding the saggy dress against her chest, "Can you zip me up, please? I can't reach it," She turned away from Tim to show off the zipper. He approached her slowly, looking at her perfect porcelain skin. It dawned on him in that moment that she never wore a corset or brassiere.

_Not like she needs it, _Tim thought fleetingly as he gave the zipper a tug and drew it up the back of Rose. As it came together, it began to fit her like a glove. The skirt had just the right amount of volume to give her hips a nicer curve. The sash accenutated her figure nicely, and the top part clung to her in all the right places. Rose stared at herself in the hallway mirror for the dressing room. She lowered her hands to the sash, admiring the way the floor length skirt made her seemingly float. In the mirror, Tim lowered his chin to her shoulder and smiled, nudging himself against her.

"Let me buy this for you," Tim broughts his hands up, gently rubbing his hands along the velvet sleeves, "It's the one, Rose."

She smiled, her cheeks growing red, "It does feel nice..."

"No one will be able to pay attention to the art when you're there," He whispered, gently pecking at her neck. She watched in the reflection, "They'll all be too busy with their eyes on you."

...

_November 2nd, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

"Jack, do you think Dalmatian has the right amount of spots?" Frenchie asked. He had been analyzing his paintings every day since they finished them. It's the only thing he came into the studio for. Jack knew he was anxious about the art show. Having finished ahead of schedule was probably only more maddening for Frenchie.

Jack was sitting at the table, a mug of warm coffee beside him, as he sketched a picture of Rose. She had a cigarette between her lips, a stein of frothy beer in her slender hands as she enjoyed the steerage party. He had been grinning the entire time he was drawing it, hearing the beat of the drum. Frenchie's voice drew him away, though, and he looked up, blinking and rapidly returning to the silent studio.

"Uh, yeah, I think it's fine," Jack nodded, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips, "Frenchie, bud, they're done. You can quit worryin' about them. I talked to the Museum that's housing you. We can bring the paintings in the day before and they'll mount them how we'll like for us."

"Good, I have more time just in case," Frenchie rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

Jack knew that look and his blue eyes pierced him. Jack lowered his pencil and rose from his stool, "Frenchie, whatever you're thinking, you gotta stop. We have no time to paint an entirely new painting. I don't even have anymore paint."

"But imagine an underwater scene," Frenchie looked to Jack, "Lots of blue, great use of shadows. God rays, the works. Coral, too. It would be beautiful."

"I don't have time to mix all those paints," Jack told him, nearly exasperated.

"We can do it, I know we can," Frenchie turned to Jack, "I wish it had been in our intial brainstorm! The ocean is so misunderstood," Frenchie seemed to be talking himself into it and raced to the table, scribbling a list out, "This is all the paint we would need. You can get it first thing in the morning," Frenchie held it out towards Jack who made no move to accept it. Frenchie paused, furrowing his brow and looking at Jack.

"No," Jack said again, crossing his arms over his chest, "Frenchie, it would be rushed. We have spent the last seven months making all of these paintings. We've poured ourselves into them. How can you cast one out for a last minute idea?"

"Jack, I'm really trying to make a statement here," Frenchie said, clutching his smock in his hands, "I want to go on roads far less travelled in art. This is my chance to do that."

"There will be other residencies," Jack told him.

"Not like this-"

"I'm not painting another painting," Jack turned fully towards Frenchie now, "Okay? I'm not doing it. The art show is in eight goddamn days. I don't have time to make a variety of blue shades, not to mention purples and greens and yellows for all the other things in the ocean. No, I won't do it."

"But Jack... I can't do it alone," Frenchie said, seemingly hurt.

"I won't paint it for this show," Jack replied, rubbing his forehead for a moment, "But we can paint it and sell it at auction."

"I want it for the show."

"Well, you better get started, then," Jack shrugged, "I'm _not _partaking in a last minute scramble."

"Jack, please, do you know much is on the line and-"

"Don't," Jack clenched his teeth, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair, "There is _nothing _wrong with the paintings we made, Frenchie. This is a major pitfall about you. You doubt yourself. And it's so severe, you start to self-destruct. Our paintings are perfect. Don't start getting overly ambitious and wrecking us. Do you want to look like an idiot at that museum? I sure as hell don't. I'm not painting anything else and that is final," He began towards the door.

"Where are you going?!" Frenchie was bewildered by Jack's spiked temper.

"To get a drink," Jack said from the door, "I dunno, more of that fresh air you were tellin' me about," And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving a perplexed and stunned Frenchie behind.


	18. Escapade

Chapter Eighteen

_November 3rd, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

In the was very late and Jack knew that. He suspected it was growing into the early hours of morning as he wearily eyed the moon hanging in the clear sky in front of him. It was cold, he could see his breath, but his entire body was tingly and warm. Jack was sitting on an enbankment to the river, slightly sloped. He was hugging his knees, a half empty handle of vodka leaned up against the side of him. His eyes were bloodshot, both from drinking and from simply crying.

Jack felt so tapped out. He reached for the bottle and leaned back on his arm as he nursed it. He lowered it, licking his lips pensively and watching the river flow downstream, "That 'date' I had with Iris..." He said out loud breathily, "I imagined it was you the whole time, Rose. There wasn't a moment of that conversation I didn't pretend I was telling you. I wish I had actually gotten to tell you all these things I've wanted to. They're just building up and building up. Gettin' stuck in my mind, gumming up the works," He shook his head and downed more vodka, carelessly wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I'm going to be twenty-two soon," Jack eventually said again, looking around for nothing in particular, "That's another thing we didn't discuss... our birthdays. When is yours, Rose? What day was the earth gifted with you?" He lowered his eyes for a moment, shifting his boots in the crunchy dead grass. He sighed, falling onto his back, the sky filling his sights. Jack held the bottle to his side, careful to not spill the only thing he felt could keep him grounded in the moment. His blond hair fell around his head as he lay flat to the hill, looking at the variety of stars.

"I bet you're up there, lookin' down on me, and laughing," Jack said quietly, his lips barely moving as he became mesmerized by the sky, "Laughin' about what a fool I am. I knew you for three days and still, you had me wrapped around your finger in no time. You probably can't believe I'm this hung up over you. Somedays, I wonder why... but Rose... darlin'..." He sighed all over again and closed his eyes. He felt like was nearly swaying back and forth. Immediately, Jack sat up, having another gulp of vodka, "I don't know if soulmates exist, but... I'm pretty sure you were mine."

He chuckled, his shoulders bobbing up and down. He leaned his head back, downing more vodka. Jack grinned to himself as the alcohol stung his throat, "What damned luck, though, wouldn't you say? Old legend folklore mumbo-jumbo always proclaims everyone has a soulmate. They didn't mention your soulmate could be as brief as a bolt of lightening," Jack shook his head, glancing to the handle in his hand, "And we all know, Rose, lightening doesn't strike in the same place twice."

Jack stretched his legs into the grass, propping himself up on an elbow as he continued taking sips of his vodka, "Poor Frenchie. Probably left him wonderin' as to where I went," He shrugged carelessly in the next moment, "A guy's gotta take a break eventually, right, Rose? Just 'cause art is my life's calling, doesn't mean I can be slave to it all the time," He sighed and rolled onto his back again, "Rose, who am I kidding? I don't know what I'm ramblin' on about. I'm becoming one of those street vagrants that makes women uncomfortable. I don't know which way I'm going. What's my end game supposed to be, Rose? Isn't there an overall goal? A task you must complete? I don't have the slightest clue as to what I'm doing," Melodramatically, he threw his arms out beside himself and sighed, bending his knees, "I need a sign, Rose. Anything. Tell me what I'm supposed to be doing with myself!"

An owl hooted distantly and the cicadas continued their night time symphony from the dark trees surrounding Jack. He became acutely aware of the noises around and he gave in to listening for a few moments. He let out a huff, "Well, happy birthday to me, huh? Another year I have to live without you."

...

Frenchie and Iris were sat at the worktable that late morning simply twiddling their thumbs. Frenchie occasionally glanced towards his waiting paintings, but his mind constantly wandered towards the door. The silence was deafening to Iris as she took turns glancing between Frenchie and the door. She rubbed her hands together and adjusted the headband perched on her hair.

"So... what exactly happened?" Iris cocked an eyebrow up, trying to catch Frenchie's distracted eyes. Frenchie sighed, folding his hands together and tilting his forehead against them.

"We had a fight, that's it."

"A fight about what?" Iris pried, narrowing her eyes towards her brother.

"I..." Frenchie sighed, closing his eyes, "I wanted to do an entirely different painting for the art show. He refused to help in anyway and stormed out. That's it."

"Well, I'd be pissed, too," Iris muttered under her breath, looking towards her hands, "He stormed out last night and he's still not back."

"Yes, I know," Frenchie groaned, "I wish he'd come back already. I'm ready to apologize."

"He just needs space," Iris told him, "He lives in a shared space. You and I are always here."

"I can't have Jack walk out on me, Iris," Frenchie lowered his hands, his face a frustrated red, "I need him. I can't do this all alone. He has to be at that show with me. He helped with over half of it."

Iris looked to her brother and simply nodded before gazing back towards the door.

...

When the sun crept up on Jack, he decided he wasn't done spending time with himself. The sky was breaking into an orange-sherbert swirl as he finished the rest of his vodka and carelessly tossed it into a bin, stepping out onto the sidewalk feeling energized. Many people were already up and about, heading towards their job or taking a leisurely stroll. Jack jammed his hands into his pockets and walked along the street, gawking to buildings. In his drunken state, it was like he was seeing New York City in a whole new way.

After a few blocks of walking towards the heart of New York City, Jack came across a small vendor on the corner. He paused and looked to all the magazines and newspapers. Nothing really caught his eye. He stepped up to the window, however, fumbling in his pockets.

"Can I get a pack of Fatima's, please?" Jack asked, sliding a nickel across the counter.

"It's your lucky day," The elderly clerk grinned, reaching below his counter, "It's my last pack until I make a trip to Pennsylvania next week."

Jack returned the smile, immediately ripping the pack open and placing the slender cigarette between his lips, "I guess it is my lucky day."

"Use it wisely," The clerk said, leaning forward on his elbows, "You could become very rich today."

Jack scoffed, toying with the cigarette under his tongue before he flicked his lighter open and lit it, "I'm already rich, mister."

"Oh, in what way?" The man chuckled heartily.

"In memories, my good sir," Jack laughed, tapping his finger to his forehead, before he continued walking up the street. The clerk furrowed his brow together and leaned out the window to watch Jack go, carelessly flicking ash on the street as he crossed to the next block, raking his hair from his eyes.

...

Frenchie was pacing in the studio now. Iris was leaned up against an iron pillar, splattered in paint. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she slumped against the support, her blue eyes endlessly following her brother's nervous movement. Frenchie paused and gazed anxiously towards the clock above the stairwell to Jack's room.

"Ten-thirty in the morning, for God's sake," Frenchie heaved a sigh, ripping his beret off his head and tossling his brown hair, "He's been gone for nearly twelve hours, Iris. That's long enough to call the police and deem him missing, right?! Something had to have happened to him. Maybe... maybe he drank too much and he got lost. What if he fell in the river!?"

"He didn't," Iris heaved a sigh, sagging her shoulders, "Give 'im more time," Her eyes languidly turned on the door, "He'll come back."

"What if he just took off from New York City?" Frenchie continued, turning his beret in his hands nervously, "You know him, Iris. He's a free spirit. Say in a blind rage, he took the first train out of here. Maybe he'll never come back. What if this is his way of quitting!"

"Oh, please," Iris shook her head and crossed to the table, leaning up against it on her elbows, "Jack may be a free spirit but he wouldn't be dumb enough to leave all his things behind. You saw his room. Everything's still there."

"Then where is he!?" Frenchie's voice climbed to a pinched octave, "I'm worried about him, Iris?! Aren't you?"

"Yes and no," She shrugged, looking at her fingernails.

"What does that mean?"

"Yes, I'm worried he may have gone and done something stupid while drunk, maybe I even think he got arrested," Iris gazed across the studio at her brother, "but no, I don't think he's not ever coming back. He is. He wants this, Frenchie. More than you think."

"He could become his own manager," Frenchie shook his head, "He could just cut out the middle man, Iris."

"But he won't," Iris stood up straight now, stretching her arms out beside her, "He wouldn't do that, Frenchie. He's happy with what he's got. That's what is different about you and him. You? You're _never _sastified. That's what caused all of this in the first place. It's time to take a moment and evaluate, Frenchie. Why don't you stop worrying about what Jack is doing and worry about yourself?!" Her cheeks had grown red the longer she spoke.

Frenchie lowered his eyes for a moment and weakly set his beret on the table. He brushed past his sister silent and went to stand before the wall of fourteen paintings, awaiting eagerly to be put on display under fine light and above sparkling marble floors. Frenchie took the time observe each painting, slowly walking down the line. When he got to the final one, the debutaunte scene he paused, tilting his head back. He noticed, in that moment, there were many vibrant red heads present at the ball. Frenchie grinned faintly and lowered his eyes, sighing in the process.

"Jack, I'm an ass," Frenchie said to himself.

"I don't have to be Jack to agree with that," Iris said, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking, earning a piercing glare from her brother. After a few moments, he smiled, too, casting his eyes back down to the concrete floor.

...

"You know..." Jack peered at the graying bartender who was busy hauling glasses to the proper shelves. The bar was dimly lit, all the shutter drawn close, only allowing the smallest slivers of light to pierce the air full of floating dust. Jack was the only patron there, "I'm surprised to find a bar open before eleven in the mornin' down here in the Industrial parts."

The bartender paused, his gray ponytail brushing against the nape of his neck. He turned towards Jack and grinned crookedly, "Sometimes you get lucky and someone who was still drunk from the night before staggers in," He gestured his head towards Jack who finished off his second whiskey and held his glass out to the bartender.

The bartender refilled his drink and Jack smirked, taking another sip before looking at him, "My name's Jack. What about you?"

"Well, Jack, my name is Howard," He reached his hand out and the men shook. Howard cleared his throat and pressed his hands to the countertop, "So, uh, is this going to become a regular thing now that we've swapped names?"

Jack laughed, giving his drink a swirl before nursing on it for a moment more, "I dunno. We'll see, I guess."

"Oh, let me guess," Howard held his hand out towards him, "Your little sweetie pie dumped you, that's it, isn't it?"

"In a way... I suppose she did," Jack shrugged, finishing his whiskey again and cradling his head in his hand, "I guess if dyin' is the same thing as breaking up."

"Alright, I'm sorry," Howard nodded, "That is pretty tough. How long were you two together?"

Howard refilled Jack's drink as his eyes followed the grain in the wood of the bar. Jack slowly ran his hands along it and then looked up to Howard, "Felt like awhile. To be honest, I was never good at keeping track of time."

"No, _you_," Howard leaned in closer towards Jack, "got a real free spirit about you. You look like someone who travels without a watch. Livin' on God's goodwill, huh?" Howard straightened up and tucked some wine glasses down on the shelves below.

Jack scoffed and lifted his eyes to peer at Howard from beneath his bangs, "Yeah, I used to think that but now..." He lowered his eyes back to the bar, absent mindedly digging his nails into the grain, "There comes a time we have to anchor in place, right? Didn't you ever travel a bit when you were younger before you decided to open a bar?"

"Nah," Howard waved his hand dismissively, "Never really got the chance to travel. Had sick siblings and parents I had to support. I've been north to Niagara Falls and as far south as Delware, but that's about it. You been across the United States?"

"Twice," Jack told him slowly, "I've been back and forth between the coasts twice."

"What's California like? I hear the weather is mild," Howard asked, cocking his head slightly.

"It's beautiful," Jack said, his eyes still down, a lump growing in this throat. He cleared his throat and lifted his gaze suddenly in the next moment, sitting up right, "Say, Howard... if a guy was told today was his lucky day, where would you go and try to get the luckiest at?"

"What do you mean?" Howard turned his dark eyes on him.

"You heard me, where would you go try your luck around here?"

Howard thought for a moment before he came closer to Jack, "There's an illegal gambling parlor down by the docks. It's the last building before the warehouse on Trademark Ave, unit A. Knock twice, show money, you're in. No pool, no winning bet taxes, none of the bullshit. There's some good players in there, but you could get rich quick there with some stupid luck... if that's what you're looking for."

Jack grinned, "Now you're talkin'."

...

The docks were quiet that morning. Jack heard no alarms ringing, no people shouting. No carts were rustling about on the uneven pavement. He glanced over his shoulder momentarily as he descended a slope, his eyes running along the building markers. He walked through a shadow and he was overcome with a chill slightly. He dug his hands into his pockets as he slowed his walk on the sidewalk, his boots crunching the gravel. A seagull squawked overhead as Jack pausing, gazing up at the shiny gold A on the porch pillar.

Jack shuffled his boots around and felt the wad of cash he had in his pockets, months and months worth of payment for his work with Frenchie and part commission off the paintings he sold. Jack again looked up and down the sidewalk before he approached the door and curtly knocked twice. He could hear movement on the other side of the door.

"What do you got?" Came a gruff Northern voice. Jack looked around for a moment before realizing he was talking through the mail slot. Jack simply pulled the cash out of his pocket for him to see, putting it back just as quick. He heard the flick of a lock and whent the door opened, a plume of smoke bellowed out. He squinted for a moment before a man in a short sleeve white button up and khaki pants was standing before him. He was an older man with dark hair. He looked to be stoical and calculating. He allowed Jack to enter.

It was obvious the home was used strictly just for illegal gambling. There were no clear signs anybody lived there. Years of smoking had caused yellowing to attack the floral wallpaper. Most furniture had stains or rips. Jack's boots thudded loudly on the floorboards as he continued straight down a hallway that spilled into a large living space. The curtains were drawn shut. One large table with mismatching chairs sat in the center. Six other businessmen of the sort were sitting there, their ties let loose, cigar smoke hanging densely in the air. Along the walls there were more furniture, discarded out of the way. That's when Jack noticed there were four women gathered along the wall, all wearing risque silk nightgowns, batting their eyes around eagerly. Jack furrowed his brow together and looked at the scene he was confronted with. All the business men in unison looked at him.

The man who let Jack in appeared beside him, "Gentlemen, it seems a new player would like to join us. What's your name, boy?"

"Jack," He said, his blue eyes darting to each face.

"Well, Jack, how'd you hear about this place?" The man pressed, lowering his cigar.

"Just... just in passing," Jack shrugged.

"He's a cop, come on," A fat business man bellowed from the table, "Just look at him, Harvey. He's well put-together, good looking; he's a cop."

"He's not," Harvey replied.

"And how do you know?!" Another business man piped up.

"The man wreaks of alcohol. I can smell it from where I stand. Just some good-looking chap looking for a game is what I see."

"Someone told me it was my lucky day today," Jack said, reaching for his cigarettes. His eyes glanced over the bright orange packaging of his Fatima's as he withdrew it and lit it. He exhaled, contributing more to the overall haze, "I'd be fool to not test the limits, right?"

...

Frenchie returned from the back room, pulling a canvas behind him. The wood paneling caused a groan to echo through the studio. Iris had been sitting on the stairs leading to Jack's room, checking her wrist watch obsessively every moment. It was well after noon now. When she heard the commotion, she came to her feet and went down the steps to see the large painting Jack had of Rose in a dark blue velvet dress and a butterfly hairclip with a gleaming gem.

"What are you doing?" Iris asked, softly, as Frenchie leaned the painting against the pillar. Her eyes hovered on Rose's face and she shuddered, _I saw her. I know it. _

"Jack should have a piece in the show," Frenchie sighed, putting his hands on his hips. He slowly walked around the painting, inspecting it, "This is probably one of the most emotional things I've ever seen him paint. The way he paints Rose... he captures this longing... this hurt," Frenchie clucked his tongue, "Jack is far more talented than even myself. He should get at least _one _painting in the art show."

"Maybe..." Iris folded her arms behind her back, "If he wants to. Frenchie, I think Jack is really happy with the fourteen _new _paintings you two did just for the show. Stop trying to change things that you think will appease people who won't even give the artist a second thought in the moment. Jack told me you have to create art for yourself. Not others."

"I get it, I get it," Frenchie laughed weakly, "Jack is a very wise bastard,' He crossed his arms over his chest, "But damn, can this guy paint. I feel like I know her just by looking at this still shot of her. I'd be surprised if he didn't want to use this one."

...

Jack glanced between all the men around him as the the hands were passed. Nearly one-hundred fifty dollars could be Jack's. He held his cigarette loosely between his lips as everyone was allowed to finally look at their hands. The man to the right of Jack set another five dollar bill into the stack. Jack looked to his cards and back up, his face hard as stone, as he copied, placing his money into the center. The next two men folded. And the man after that. The man beside Jack began to chuckle very deviously.

"You think you can just saunter in and beat me in my own parlor?" The man grinned at Jack as the dealer passed them both their final cards. Jack placed the cards into his hold and suddenly, he was screaming on the inside. He had a full house. His eyes remained locked on the cards, his breathing shallowing.

_Is this the sign, Rose? _Jack thought fleetingly for a moment before he looked to the snickering man, his only opponent left in the round for one-hundred and fifty dollars.

"Any last bets?" The man asked Jack.

Jack placed another ten in the stack, his eyes locked on his opponent. The man smirked and snagged one from his vest, gently placing it atop the wad of bills, "Lay 'em down," Jack said breathily, grinning all the while.

The man laid down a king, a jack, two tens, and an eight of spades.

"That's what you were expectin' to beat me with?" Jack smiled and cocked a bold brow up. Jack laid his three kings and two queens down and banged his hand against the tabling, hollering, "Full-house, boys!"

"How in the...?" The man's cigar dropped out of his mouth. Jack began stacking the bills up in his hands laughing. His unhappy opponent, however, stood and grabbed Jack by the collar of his coat, "Did you mess with the deck?"

"What?" Jack furrowed his brow, gripping the man's wrist, "No. Your guy was dealin' the whole time," Jack pushed his arm away, watching the man for a moment, "I ain't a cheater."

"Well, you sure look like one," The man continued, "and a thief!"

"Well, I'm not," Jack deadpanned, stuffing wad after wad of cash into his pockets, "Hey, buddy, if you can't stand to lose, maybe you shouldn't play poker. I heard badminton was fun," Jack grinned and looked to the rest of the men, "Thank you, gentlemen, for letting me play. I think it was my lucky day afterall."

"Harvey, you're jus' gonna let him go with all that money?"

"Fair is fair," Harvey folded his hands behind his head, "Besides, he's right, Leeland. You are a sore loser," The other businessmen nodded in agreement as Jack left, a glow following him out the door. He stepped out towards the docks and took in the deep salty air.

"I'm invincible," Jack grinned, turning on his heels to find more to do in New York City.

...

"It's four o'clock," Frenchie croaked where he lay across the top of the communal table. Iris was sitting on the stairs, her forehead pressed into her knees, "Iris... do you still think he is coming back?" Frenchie's mood had plummetted worse than ever as he stared at the skylights waning as evening began to set in. His belly rumbled, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the studio for the slightest moment. He wanted to be the first person Jack saw when he came back.

"He's coming back..." Iris said into her knees.

"What do you think he's doing?" Frenchie asked, dangling his arm off the side of the table as he gazed at his sister.

"I don't know..." She mumbled.

"Uh-oh, do I hear someone losing hope?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows knowingly.

"I'm just tired," Iris lifted her head now, "We've been here since seven this morning just waitin' for Jack to get back. I'm starting to think this is a terrible idea. He doesn't want to walk straight into an ambush."

"We're not going to _ambush _him," Frenchie scoffed, nearly rolling his eyes, "We're going to express how much we missed him and how sorry I am."

"Sounds like an ambush..." Iris mumbled, pressing her forehead back to her knees.

...

Jack found himself at his third bar as outside began to trascend into darkness. He downed drink after drink, comfortably reaching for bill after bill. Finally, the bartender inquired on how he was feeling. Jack laughed openly, drawing the attention of a few around him, "You're the fourth bartender today to ask me... what a nice group of workers. You guys can unionize, right?"

The bartender chuckled, "I'll give you one more glass of whiskey and then I think you should go home, alright, buddy?" He filled the glass up graciously, "Alright, no more, I'm cuttin' you off. Get some sleep, kid, alright?"

Jack grinned as he dipped his head down to drink his whiskey, _Well, Rose, whaddya think of today? Did I prove to you, to me, that I can actually have some fun? I don't need anybody to relax with. As long as I can talk to you, I know I'll be fine. Maybe twenty-two won't be so bad afterall. That full-house, Rose... that was my sign, wasn't it? You were telling me it was time. For the rest of this year, for the rest of time, I have to start making it count. No more pussyfooting about, I have to do this now. For you, Rose. For us, _He nodded for a moment and tilted his head back, killing the rest of his drink. He waved to the bartender and stood, setting a five dollar bill down, before he staggered out of the bar and onto the darkening streets of New York City.

...

The cicadas could be heard chirping outside the open window in the studio space. Iris and Frenchie were both back to sitting at the communal table. They had been sitting in silence for nearly an hour as the clock struck close to eight now. Iris picked at her nails absent mindedly. Frenchie's eyes were glued to the paint smudges, counting them over and over again.

Suddenly, the studio door creaked and the duo's heads nearly snapped upon looking up. Jack came through the door, shrugging out of his coat and putting it on the rack. Frenchie nearly knocked his stool over as he rushed towards Jack, "Oh thank goodness you're alright, Jack, I-" Frenchie paused upon getting closer to Jack, "You wreak of alcohol. Is that what you've been doing this whole time?"

"I was gettin' my fresh air," Jack told him cooly.

"Never mind it," Frenchie shook his head, "Jack, I'm... I'm so sorry. I've had a lot of time to relect. Can you forgive me?"

Jack grinned, "Oh, good. I was gone long enough, huh?"

Frenchie lunged into Jack, hugging him tightly. Iris grinned and leapt off into her stool, completing the group hug.


	19. Around the Sun

Chapter Nineteen

_November 8th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack sleepily rolled out bed that morning, but not without pecking the photo of Rose on the wall first. He sat on the edge of his bed and yawned, turning his face upwards into the rays streaking through his dirty window that had a great view of another warehouse roof. He raked his hands through his hair before deciding to get ready for the day. He washed his face in the basin and staggered into some black slacks, opting for a light blue button up that day. He laced his boots up and lit a cigarette, taking a moment to sit on his windowsill and wonder inside his mind.

He lowered his eyes to his cigarette, watching the hazy ribbon drift into the sky that was becoming rapidly brighter as the sun rose. Jack let out a sigh, tilting his head back against the wood panelling of the wall, _Another year around the sun. Growin' older every second... I can't let it slip past me anymore. Rose, I promise you, I'm gonna bounce back. I'm going to find some part of life worth holding on to. And I promise I won't let go._

Jack finished his cigarette and flicked it from his hands, leaning forward to watch it's descent down the side of the building. He sat there for another few moments, a chilly breeze brushing past him. Eventually, he got down and closed the window, deciding to head downstairs for the day. He clunked his boots down the steps carelessly, rolling his sleeve despite the fact the studio grew colder as he descended. When he made it to the base of the stairs, he was greatly startled.

"Happy birthday, Jack!" Iris and Frenchie yelled, throwing their arms up from where they waited at the communal table. Jack's face grew red and he straightened up, looking between both his friends absolutely astounded. Finally, he sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck and grinned.

"Aw, shucks... you guys remembered my birthday?"

"How could I forget!" Iris grinned, waving him over, "Come here, come here! We've got gifts for you."

"Oh, no, you shouldn't have..." Jack shook his head, crossing to them despite his protests, "Guys, you didn't have to do anything for me, really. I've been an ass this entire week."

"Pish-posh," Frenchie scoffed.

"Fooey," Iris joined in, putting her hands on her hips, "Jack, we care for you! We want you to know _we're _happy about the day the earth was given you! Our one and only!"

Jack's entire face began to eminate with heat. Frenchie popped a cork to a champagne bottle and poured three flute glasses up, handing one to Jack, "Isn't it early to be celebrating?"

"This entire day is for you, brother," Frenchie held his glass up, "We are not painting or mixing a single thing today. And tomorrow, we will get these paintings to the museum. I've hired a cart and driver to help us deliver them in two trips. But, there is one thing I need to ask you about the art show after we all have our celebratory drink."

The three of them clanged glasses and Jack drank the fizzy alcohol swiftly, "So," He licked his lips, "what do you need to ask me?"

"Follow me," Frenchie gestured and began around the staircase, towards the backroom. He paused, however, and turned to face the wall against the stairs. Jack glanced to Iris and slowly trailed after Frenchie. He stopped when he saw Rose's eyes pierce him. He shifted his feet for a moment and averted eye contact, glancing towards Frenchie instead. Frenchie stared at the painting for a moment more before taking in a curt breath, "Jack, you are richly talented. I'd say... even more so than me. Classical training cannot capture the raw energy that flows out of you onto a canvas or a piece of paper," Frenchie turned to Jack, holding his flute glass against his chest, "I wanted to ask you if you wanted to make this our fourteenth piece to show in the museum this weekend?"

A silence filled the space between them. Jack lowered the flute glass and now looked at the painting, feeling something in his stomach cramp. He looked down at the dirty concrete floors and searched his mind for any kind of reasoning. Jack gnawed on his lip and slowly looked back to Frenchie. He pursed his lips for the slightest moment before saying, "No."

Frenchie nodded and glanced back to the painting, "I just thought I'd ask..."

...

Rose felt like she could finally breath again after she got off work that early afternoon. She felt realtively awful and was in no mood to deal with a single more customer. Rose untied her apron as she crossed the street away from the diner, tucking it over the strap of her purse. She undid the pins in her hair, fluffing her curls and sighing as they were allowed to fall down her shoulders. As she walked, she looked at no one. She glanced at nothing. She walked eyes set forward, ready to be back at apartment. A gusty wind picked up for a moment. She noticed dark clouds hanging on the horizon. She smirked to herself as she crossed the street, barely glancing over her shoulder.

_The world knows how I'm feeling, _She thought bitterly as she fished for her keys in her coat pocket as her apartment complex appeared in the distance, _Jack, I thought you were supposed to give me a clue, a sign... anything! I still feel helpless to myself. I feel my mask breaking, I can't keep it up anymore... I shouldn't have to!_

Rose sighed, flaring her nostrils as she burst through the front foyer and barrelled down the hall to her apartment, hoping not to get caught by anybody. She whirled through her door, flicking the lock over, and sighed, looking around her gray apartments as the sun was completely overtaken. She huffed, sagging her shoulders as she leaned against the door, _I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't be nagging you... not on your birthday. You've already done so much for me and yet I selfishly ask for more... _Rose finally shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the wrack, carelessly disregarding her purse on the floor. She kicked her heels off and carried them to her bedroom where she changed into a cotton nightgown and pulled a black silk robe on.

She lit several candles in her living room and pulled the drapes back completely, watching the wind become gusty as an impending storm brewed above. Rose seated herself in a chair nearest to the window and simply stared. The grandfather clock ticked persistently. The candles flickered, casting a soft orange glare across Rose. She pressed her knuckles to her lips, sitting in complete silence, absorbed by her thoughts. Eventually, she lowered her hand and gazed towards her dark apartment, her eyes gleaming in the candle light.

"Well... here we are again," She said breathily and uneven, "Another revolution around the sun... and," She heaved a sigh, her chest falling deeply, "it doesn't feel like a single thing has changed. Not a _damned _thing," Tears sprung to her eyes and she pressed her hand to her forehead, her face becoming pinched. She sputtered to catch her breath for a moment and sunk further into her chair, "Jack, I'm still direction-less. I am flat out lost. I've lead myself to a dead-end, a corner. And... I just don't have the strength to fight it anymore!"

Rose errupted into a sob, pressing her palms to her face. She shook deeply, trembling. She paused, however, when she heard a noise. Rose slowly cocked her head to the window to see rain pelting the pane. A flash of lightening went off, followed by the deep roll of thunder. Rose tilted her head back against the chair's cushion, watching, her breathing shallow.

"I wish so deeply that you were here..." She breathed, "I wish I could touch you one more time. See your smile... I wish I could feel that special way again. The way you used to make me feel..." She smiled despite the tears falling down her cheeks. She sniffled, glancing towards the roof, "I remember when you taught me how to spit like a man..." More tears brimmed her eyes and a lump grew in her throat, "I don't think I ever got the chance to tell you I put that training to use... right into Cal's eye."

Rose came to her feet now, crossing to the window sill, gently bringing her hand up to the foggy glass, "It's the little things, Jack. The things you forget to share with people that become the most important once it's all said and done. Who was your best friend growing up? How did you find art? What was your relationship with your parents like? I'm teaming with so many questions, I'm flooded with so many answers. I couldn't write you enough letters to convey what the pit of my anxiety is. I so desperately crave to know what that feeling I felt was. How do I achieve it again? Will I ever?"

Rose pressed her head to the cool glass, feeling the vibration of the rain thump against the pane. She kept her eyes downcast, watching the droplets sink towards the bottom of the sill, "Can I not let Tim in because he's not you?" She gnawed on her lip for a moment, "Or am I afraid to love and lose again?"

Rose lifted her eyes as a car rolled by on the street, kicking up a wave of water gathering in the gutters. Her breath fogged the glass up and she turned away from it, looking across the room at the dancing shadows of her books, "You'd think I'd have myself put back together by this point, huh? I'm caught in all these ruminations... what could I have done differently?" She scoffed at herself and slowly wandered to the couch, stretching out across it and tucking a pillow under her head, "I like to think if you were in my position, you'd be doing a lot better. You know how to survive, Jack. I'd like to think you would have moved on beyond this, not allowed yourself to wallow. I'd like to think you'd be on the pursuit of happiness again."

Rose watched the light flicker on the ceiling as another crack of thunder rang out. She shifted her head on the pillow, a curl falling across her collarbone, "Happy birthday, Jack..." She sighed and closed her eyes.

...

Frenchie, Iris, and Jack decided to stay in that chilly rainy evening and drink. The radio was cranked on quietly as the three sat together at the communal table, several bottles cluttered around them. Iris had just finished telling a story about accidentally knocking one of her father's statues over, throwing the trio into howling laughter.

"Now, I know we're celebrating _your _birthday," Frenchie said, pointedly look at Jack, "But can we all just have a drink for the upcoming art show? Here's to us, Jack. We did it! We pulled it off."

Jack grinned and clanked his bottle to Frenchie's, "To art."

"To art!" Iris joined in.

After taking a good chug, Frenchie snapped his fingers, looking towards Jack, "Speaking of art show. I got you another birthday present," Frenchie, standing up and crossing to his workspace cabinets. Drunkenly, Jack peered over his shoulder towards Frenchie, then looked to Iris, who only grinned in response. Frenchie brought back a white cardboard box, placing it infront of Jack and knocking some empty bottles over.

"What's this?" Jack asked, only staring at the box.

"Well, the thing with birthday presents is you open them and find out," Frenchie laughed.

Jack smirked at him reached for the top, pulling it off. He paused when saw black garments laying in the box in front of him. Jack slowly stood now and pulled the sleek black overcoat out, followed by a finely pressed black button up and new slacks. It was a fairly nice tuxedo.

"I want you to look sharp for our presentation," Frenchie said, clasping his hands together, "You deserve to look nothing but the best."

Jack lowered the garments back onto the tissue paper and put his hands on hips, smiling, "Thank you, Frenchie. That really means a lot."

"Yeah, so now people will think _you're _the artist," Iris broke up into giggles, her face fairly red as she continued to drink. Frenchie shot his sister a look. Jack snorted.

"You know, I just gotta say," Jack placed his hand on his overcoat in the box and looked between his friends, "I think things are startin' to look up for me, guys."


	20. The Art Show

Chapter Twenty

_November 10th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose pressed her shoulders to her bedroom wall and reached at an angle behind her back, holding her breath for a moment. Her hand finally caught hold of the zipper and she yanked it up. Rose let out a sigh as she was able to conquer the zipper on her new velvet green evening dress. Rose approached her mirror, smoothing out any invisible wrinkles. She pinned her side bangs up with pearl clips and put on a sterling silver necklace with a small silver heart charm on it. She brushed some blush on her cheeks and opted for a light pink lipstick and pale pink for her lids. She looked in the mirror at herself, simply staring into her green eyes. Rose hadn't put so much effort in her looks in well over a year. Her hair was always a rats nest, her cosmetics left untouched on her vanity. But here she was, using them without even a second thought. She perked up at the prospect.

_Could it be a sign, Jack? That I'm regaining my energy?_

Rose grinned as she applied another layer of lipstick, running her lips together. She fluffed the end of her hair. Just as she had finished, there was a knock at her door. Almost nervously, Rose went to answer it, feeling rather shy about getting done-up. When she opened the door, Tim was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and red tie. He wore a gray woolen coat over it. He took the time to gel his hair a little, still allowing some to claw over his forehead. Rose couldn't help but think he looked trim and dashing. When he saw her, however, he had to stop his jaw from hitting the ground.

"Rose, wow," He felt his face growing warm, "you look stunning," He brought his hand from behind his back and presented her one sole rose, "You could light a room up."

Rose giggled, taking the rose into her hand and twirling it before giving it a smell.

"Hey, you'll want to grab a coat," Tim told her, "It's wet and cold out there," He walked a short ways into her apartment, closing the door behind her while she filled a cup up with water and placed the rose in it.

"What about an umbrella?" She asked as she shrugged into her black woolen peacoat, letting the sash dangle at her side.

"No, we should be okay," Tim shrugged and grinned, "Getting caught in the rain is all the more romantic, isn't it?"

"Oh gosh, how many of those books did you read?" Rose laughed as she put her purse on her shoulder and opened the door, "Come on, Romeo. Our star-crossed dinner awaits."

...

Jack came down the stairs to the workspace of the studio. He was wearing his new crisp garments. They felt rather good. He wiggled his toes in his new back leather soled shoes. They were stiff, but he knew he'd break them in in no time. Jack let his hair untouched, boyishly layered and tossled atop his head. He sheepishly had his hands in his pockets as he spotted Frenchie, Iris, and Irene in the center of the space. Irene was busy combing out Frenchie's beard and mustache despite his protests. Iris spotted him, however, and her lits up. She left Frenchie's side to greet him.

Iris was wearing long black one-shoulder evening gown. It accentutated her petite figure very well. She had her long blonde hair wound into a fishtail braid, resting on her exposed shoulder. Iris grinned at Jack, her smile pearly, "Hey, you," She said, folding her hands together, "You look great, Jack. Like a real _artiste,_" The two of them shared a curt and stiff laugh, obviously nervous about the impending evening.

"I just hope Frenchie gets what he wants," Jack shrugged, raking his hair back from his eyes, "I hope this art show is really great for him."

"Oh, I think it will be," Iris glanced towards her distracted brother and mother and then looked back at Jack, "And really, it's all thanks to you, Jack," She crossed to him and got up on the balls of her feet, leaving a gentle kiss against his cheek. Jack looped his arms around Iris' body, giving her a big hug, which she returned around his neck.

...

"Okay, okay..." Rose said between her laughs, lowering her wine glass, "So, you're telling me that Maggie beat up _boys? _Just because she didn't like them?" Tim nodded, smirking all the while pouring himself more wine, "Are you are telling me all this gossip to get dirt on your sisters?"

"Redemption is a big deal between siblings," Tim winked, taking a drink of wine. Rose grinned, her cheeks growing red. She glanced out the window speckled in raindrops. The street gleamed with moisture beneath the street lamps. Many people beneath umbrellas bobbed by, "Maggie likes to pretend she's a delicate little flower, but that girl could knock your lights out."

"You know," Rose looked back to him from the window, "that doesn't put any dirt on Maggie, in my opinion," She grinned deviously, "That just makes her more badass to me."

"You women are impossible," Tim threw his head back and laughed deeply. Rose grinned at the sound on it, placing her head in her hand, giving herself in to only focusing on Tim in that moment, as if he was the only person in the world. She supposed he really was the last person left in her world, any how.

"So, what kind of art are you expecting tonight?" Rose asked, taking a sip of wine, "Were there any names on the list you recognized or are familiar with?"

"For the most part, you and I are both going in blind," Tim replied, grinning lop-sidedly, "I recognized one name, though. Frenchie Cohan. I represent one of his clients. He purchased a night autumn's night scene from him towards the beginning of the year. So, maybe we can expect more landscapes from Mr. Cohan."

"Frenchie?" Rose scrunched her nose up, "I've never met anybody named Frenchie."

"Oddly enough," Tim laughed sheepishly, "It's his nickname for Frederick. I met the man once, at my client's social party where was presenting the painting. Very colorful man. Rather full of himself, if you ask me. But I suppose many artists are and have to be in such a competitive field."

Rose cast her eyes down for a moment, an image of a shiny dime passing by the forefront of her mind, for no longer than a gust of wind. Rose grinned and looked back to Tim, immediately rejoining the beat of the conversation, "Well, I'm going in with high hopes."

"That's what I want to hear," Tim offered the wine bottle to her and filled her glass, "I think we're going to have a grand evening, Rose. I always do when I'm with you."

Rose felt her face gather heat in it, "Can you believe we've known each other for over a year now? It doesn't feel like that long at all. Time sure does fly."

"I feel like the rest of my days wouldn't be long enough with you, Rose," Tim replied tenderly, "Time is so precious but often us humans disregard it. It's easy to forget... easy to let it get away from you," He paused for a moment and drank some of his wine, "I wish I took more time to appreciate when I was a kid with my sister's. I always dreamed about getting out of there the first chance I got. Not because I was unhappy... I was just cramped. But now, my sister's and I are much too busy to see each other often. I miss those days it was raining and we were all stuck in a bedroom together with some books and board games," He glanced fleetingly to the window, "We were stuck in those rooms together on a day just like this one."

Rose looked to the candle in the center of their table, flickering gently in the spherical glass holder, infused with opaque stripes, "Yeah... I've taken a lot of things for granted. But," She raised her eyes to meet his, "I think I'm done regretting, Tim."

"Good," Tim replied softly, "Life is too short to harbor so many regrets, Rose."

"I just want a future to look forward to," She set her wine glass on the table.

Tim reached across, setting his smooth hand atop her's, "I can give you one."

...

Jack and Iris walked huddled beneath an umbrella, their shoes splashing through shallow puddles on the sidewalk. Irene and Frenchie shared an umbrella a few paces back. Their breaths puffed out before them as they listened to carts and cars wheel past them on the street. Lightening flashed distantly behind the thick cloud cover, but only a light drizzle fell from the sky, making the night hazy in the street lamps. Iris' nose and cheeks had grown cold to bite of the wind across her skin. She glanced to Jack for a moment.

"Are you nervous?" She asked.

"Personally, no," Jack shrugged, holding the umbrella above them, "For Frenchie, yes."

"Me, too," She admitted, staring straight ahead.

"I think we have a lot to be proud about," Jack said, glancing towards the glossy concrete, "I think, we as artists, brought something refreshing to the table. Innocently honest. I'm not good at describing things, but you get my point."

Iris grinned and looked at the side of Jack's face, "Yeah, I think I get what you meant. And... I agree. You and Frenchie worked really hard. I watched you two. You're a two-man show. How many artists here do you think had more than one assistant?"

Jack shrugged again, "Not sure. I don't even know any other artist's at the show. Who knows, maybe some of them did it with no assistants."

"The Devil's advocate and always the wise one," Iris laughed, shaking her head. Her braid thunked against her shoulder. They walked in silence for a few moments, weaving between puddles that rippled as the drizzle picked up to small pace of rain, "Why didn't you want your painting of Rose in the show? It's beautiful."

Jack stared ahead at the rain falling before them. Their umbrella sliced through the rain, emptying out on either side of them. He lowered his eyes for a moment, listening to the rain thunk onto the umbrella, "I don't want to show her to the world," Jack finally said, the sound of rain on a metal roof ringing out above them, "I... I want to keep her for myself."

Iris glanced out to the rain as a car drove past, it's windshield wipers furiously pushed rain out of the way. The some cold rain speckled over her ankle as she walked, making goosebumps pucker on her skin. She then looked at Jack, who was only watching the path before him.

"It's okay, I understand," Iris told him, drawing his eyes to her's, "She's your little secret. Your happiness. You can't share it. I understand," She grinned at him and after a moment, he weakly returned it. Iris then linked her arm through Jack's, huddling closer under the protection of the umbrella.

...

"I love nights like this," Rose grinned, her breath puffing out before her. She held had her hands dug into her peacoat, which was tied tightly shut to ward the winter surrounding her off. She glanced to Tim who smiled at the sight of her rosy cheeks and red-tipped nose, "I remember my favorite nurse, Trudy, would bring me hot chocolate with a marshmallow every time it got cold like this. It was always a great treat. I wasn't allowed much sugar as a child."

"The holidays always gets me into a festive mood," Tim agreed, strolling around a puddle and brushing against her, "I like the holidays because my entire family can get together," They walked in silence for a few moments. Rose admired some glossy cars parked along the street, covered in droplets. It was drizzling all around, coating Rose's skin in a chill, "Rose," Tim's velvety voice cut through the cool air, "were you all alone last holiday season?"

Rose's heels splashed through a puddle, dribbling down the curve of her ankle. She nodded at first before finally saying, "Yeah, I was. But it wasn't a big deal, really. Holidays were never an huge ordeal with my family. Just another waste of money," She shrugged.

Tim reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through her's, "I don't want you to be alone ever again, Rose. I won't stand for it. Will you spend the holiday's with me and my family this year?" Rose watched the curving sidewalk for a moment, clenching her free hand in the pocket of her peacoat.

"I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"Rose," Tim squeezed her hand, "you're family."

Rose grinned and looked to their clasped hands for a moment, then followed a gleam in a puddle between them, "Thank you," She finally said softly, looking at him. Tim watched her beautiful head tilt to the side, a curly strand of hair sticking to her wet cheek as she smiled at Tim. He felt his body grow warm beneath his coat.

Tim walked a bit closer to Rose now and lowered his head for a moment. His glasses were speckled with rain drops. He took in a curt breath as he said, "It's amazing how far you and I have gone in a year. Isn't it funny how sometimes you just meet someone and get lucky?"

Rose's heart panged achingly inside her chest, she felt her stomach jolt. Her eyes looked towards the hazy street lamps to distract herself for a moment. Her blood throbbed beneath her skin. Her mouth became dry. Gently, she licked her lips and composed herself, "Do you think you only get that chance once in your life?" She asked, staring forward.

"I don't know," Tim shrugged, "Maybe. Guess it all depends, really."

"On what?" Her eyes turned on him, "What does it depend on?"

"Well," Tim clucked, "maybe you can feel lucky like that with true friends and lover's."

"Would you even be able to distinguish between them?" Rose arched her eyebrows, "Doesn't that sound frightfully confusing?"

"No," Tim shook his head, tightening his grip around her hand, "I think it's relatively simple to decipher. You just know."

The cicadas filled in the silence between them as they came to the top of a hill, pausing on the corner. The museum was right across the street, lit up, gleaming, and bustling with many well-dressed people. The couple stared at the commotion on the other side of the street before Tim shuffled his feet.

"I knew when I met you," Tim said, staring straight ahead, "I knew immediately."

"You knew what?" Rose kept her eyes on the indicator across the way.

He grinned and lowered his eyes to the slick asphalt, _She's not just going to let me wiggle out of this, is she? _He cleared his throat, "I knew... I loved you," Tim look to Rose, "I knew... you and I could make a life together."

Rose looked down, _There is so much you don't know about me... _Her eyes searched his face for a moment before she gazing longingly towards the indicator, which still told her to wait. She said nothing as they continued on that corner. Tim wasn't surprised, though. He continued to hold her hand, not even letting on the slightest bit of discontent at Rose's lack of words. Eventually, the indicator signalled it was their turn and they crossed the street. Rose inhaled deeply through her nose, willing herself to give completely into the art she was about to see.

...

Jack was towards the back wall of the museum space that faced Frenchie's section. The light did not reach the corners, leaving the area relatively dim. He had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and a glass of champagne in his hands as he leaned his shoulders up against the wall, watching their paintings from afar. Jack's eyes hovered over the sea of heads bobbing past. He sighed, slumping himself against the wall. He took a sip of his wine, his eyes following a woman with a red dinner dress sauntering by. He thumbed the lip of his glass for a moment before tilting his head back and taking a drink. A waiter came by momentarily and Jack was able to swap for a full drink, popping a cheese cube into his mouth, too. He paced a few steps back and forth in the dim area he occupied alone. Jack listened to the string quartet play jubliant warm pieces.

"Hey, Jack," Iris appeared beside him, startling him for a moment. He pushed his bangs from his face and nodded, looking around the party.

"What are you doing in the dark awkward corner?" Jack asked, watching an elderly couple stroll by with linked arms, "You should be out there, fitting in," He told her, raising his champagne slightly before taking a drink.

Iris laughed. She has her eyes down towards the wooden floorboards, her eyelids sparkling with gold in the dim lighting. Jack had to do a second look, "I don't know anybody here. Turns out, Frenchie does. It would probably would be best if I stand over here, too," Iris lowered her glass and checked her wrist watch, "The show has been going for nearly an hour now. Surely, they will be having the commencement shortly."

"I'm going to stay back here during that time," Jack told her, swiveling his wine around, "You should be up there, though. You and your mother with Frenchie when he's called to that stage."

"Why wouldn't you go with us?" Iris furrowed her brow, "Jack, you were the biggest contributor-"

"So, that way, I can draw the scene of you two with your mother later," Jack said, his cigarette tucked in the corner of his lips as he looked around the room at the sea of unfamiliar faces, "If I'm up there, I'll miss it. All of it."

Iris grinned, glancing to the side of Jack's face. His paleness was beginning to fade back into his typical almond-tanned skinned. Seems from his escapade the week before, he had received plenty of sun. Jack had been feeling better, too. Iris took a sip of wine, "Thank you, Jack," She turned to face him. He peered down on her, his cigarette smoke swirling around him, "You're a great guy," She grabbed his arm, her blue eyes looking deep into his. Jack lowered his cigarette and slowly exhaled, licking his lips pensively, "You do so much without even expecting a thank you."

"Well," Jack laughed, his somewhat scratchy, "you don't need a reason to help people, right? You can see someone in trouble and have absolutely no obligation. It is entirely free-will to help somebody who needs it."

"And let me guess," Iris tilted her head to the side, her braid swaying back and forth, "You've always chosen to help people?"

Jack shrugged, taking a drag of his cigarette. As he spoke, the smoke travelled from his lips, slowly and in curls, "Maybe I have. I don't do it for the honor."

"Why do you do it?" Iris smirked.

"Like I said," Jack arched his eyebrows, his blue eyes piercing her's, "you don't need a reason to help someone."

Iris was about to respond when a microphone could be heard cackling over a speaker system. Someone cleared their voice and began speaking into the microphone from near the very back of the museum. Everyone glanced over their shoulders and began migrating closer towards the noise. Jack nudged Iris with his arm, dipping his head down to be heard over the loud voice.

"This is probably the commencement. Grab your mom and get to Frenchie," He told her, his eyelashes brushing up against her ear, making goosebumps pucker up across Iris.

Iris paused, reaching her hand up to gently grip his neck, "You're sure you don't want to come share the moment with us right now and simply guess how happy we were on paper later?"

"It's what I want," Jack replied. Iris grinned and pecked Jack gently on the lips. After a moment, she parted, her slender fingers waiting until she walked away to graze Jack one more time. He watched her slender body fit into the large crowd, her blonde braid disappeared behind a wide-set man. Jack lowered his eyes to his champagne and sighed, striding a few more steps to get a better view of the stage. When he did, however, something caught the corner of his eye and he double took, his eyes weaving between all the foreign faces, trying to recapture what had just fleetingly met his eyes. Jack let out an uneven breath through his nostrils and took a drink of champagne. His blue eyes darted all around him before he resigned to looking back towards the stage, his shoulders tense.

After a few moments of trying to focus on the speech about the integrity of artists, something in the side of his eye caught his attention again. Jack's head whipped to the left and his mouth fell agape. His cigarette dropped into his champagne, the ash sinking towards the bottom as the filter bobbed at the surface. Jack's entire body began trembling. He felt almost as if he was going to be sick. Jack's nostrils flared and tears began brimming the edges of his eyes. His face became pinched, his eyebrows furrowed together, as he gazed nearly across the room, through one small sliver in the crowd, that lead to the most unlikely attendants in his opinion.

It was Rose.

Jack was certain it was her. He resigned to simply watching her for a few moments. Her slender fingers, painted dark red along the nails, were holding a slender flute glass. She was wearing a stunning green velvet evening dress. His eyes followed her curls, spinning in circles with every strand. Jack gnawed on his lip and tore his eyes away, closing them. He could hear his heart beating in his ears as he breathed unevenly. Jack had completely forgotten about the commencement happening in front of him, _Is she real? Or is it another horrible trick by my brain? _Jack dared himself to look back towards her. She was still there, her eyes trained forward, clapping appropriately as the announcer introduced the artist's of the night. Jack felt his face pale, _No... no... she was supposed to disappear. She's not here. She's... not here, _Jack's lips quivered as a few tears broke free, sliding down his cheeks. Exasperated, her rubbed his face, setting his ruined champagne down on a table and silently back pedaling through the crowd behind him. He brushed past person after person, gazing to everything that seemed unfamiliar about them. Jack walked slowly, silently, on the outskirts of the large crowd facing the stage. Jack paused, clenching his hands together. He was staring at the back of Rose. She was still there, 3-D, completely immersed in the world.

_Did she jump out of my brain and re-animate herself? How could this be? She wasn't on the survivor's list for Titanic, Carpathia, Red Cross, White Star Liner; nothing! How could she have possibly dodged every single documentation proclaiming she lived. Why would she do that? _Jack felt his face pinch in hurt. Just then, over the top of Rose's head, Jack could see the commencement show continuing. Frenchie, Iris, and Irene were up there, waving and thanking the crowd. Jack watched this glassy eyes, his mouth hanging open like the hinge was broken. Jack shook his head fleetingly. Rose suddenly looked to the side, drawing Jack's eyes near her. He could make out her silouette in the dim lighting for the ceremony. He saw her green eyes gleam, her porcelain skin absolutely flawless. She looked to perfect, how he just wanted to reach out...

Jack furrowed his brow together as he watched Rose's lips move while she spoke. Slowly, his eye turned on the man she was speaking to. A man with similar height to him with dark black hair and round thick glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He was wearing a nice coat, grinning towards Rose while she spoke to him, their words not making it towards Jack's ears. Jack put his hands into his pockets, hoping to stop them from quaking. Jack took the slightest step towards Rose, his body aching horribly. But in the next moment, the lights came up, revealing Jack, and frightening him back.

Jack shuffled towards a pillar, cooly rounding it and pressing his shoulders against it. His heart was thundering in his chest. He panted shallowly, staring straight ahead at a few other paintings he was not able to interpret in that moment. Jack pat his vest, reaching for his cigarettes. Shakily, he placed one in his mouth and lit it, inhaling unevenly. Jack peered out from his hiding spot. Rose was getting a new glass of champagne, all the while talking rather animatedly with this tall, dark, and mysterious man. Jack's eyes hovered over Rose's dress. She nearly looked even more petite than the last time he had seen her. He ached deeply when he saw just how well Rose could pull off anything she wore. He was convinced she could wear a trash bag and look stunning.

Jack set his cigarette between his front teeth, pressing his sticky palms flat to the pillar. He intently looked to the man with Rose, noting every thing about him. Jack furrowed his brow and watched Rose laugh about something, brushing up against him. Jack heart began pounding again and he tilted back towards the pillar, pressing his sweaty body completely to the cool marble. Jack's eyes were now glued to the floor. Absolutely nothing ran through his mind at that moment. He couldn't understand why. Here was Rose, standing before him. Jack was shrouded into a world of question as he slowly came to realized what he was understanding. He bit into the filter of his cigarette momentarily, before lowering it from his lips and tapping the ash off the end.

Jack glanced around the pillar the other direction now. Rose was leaned against a marble wall, holding her champagne glass near her chest. She had her head turned coyly, some bright red hair framing her heart shaped face. She was smiling as that same man spoke to her. He rubbed his neck and gestured widely. Rose cast her eyes down, her eyelids shimmering with a light pink. Jack felt a quake rush through his body. He tilted his head back, watching her longingly.

With shakey hands, Jack brought his cigarette back to his lips as he simply observed Rose. She still moved so languidly. She still glowed like a goddess. The detail he drew her in, the consistency he dreamt of her; it was all true, ringing right in front of him. Rose hadn't changed in the least. It was like she had been trapped in a time capsule. There she was.

_But how? _Jack thought, lowering his cigarette with a trembling hand.

...

The art show was beginning to wind now near midnight. Jack watched as Rose and her male companion left through the front doors. Quickly, he hurried to the coat check and retrieved his woolen coat, shrugging into it and staggering for the doors.

"Jack?" He paused, his hand on the door handle. He looked to see Iris was standing there, her brow knit together, "Where are you going?"

"Iris," Jack was breathless as he approached her, putting his hand on her shoulder, "I can't explain right now. Please, give me some time. I need to go. Right now," Jack shook his head, obviously flustered, before he burst out the door, taking a left. The opposite direction from the studio. She was stunned in a place, blinking rapidly. She sighed and hugged herself, wondering what in the world had gotten into Jack Dawson.

Jack did his best to not splash through puddles on the wet sidewalk. His cigarette remained tucked in his lips, forgotten, as he followed the couple who passed through many rings of light from street lamps ahead of him. Jack walked slowly, trying to act cool and collected. He jammed his hands in his eyes pockets, occasionally watching the duo walk in front of him. They were still talking it seemed, laughing about something. Her laughter reached her hair and his knees buckled for the slightest moment. Jack swallowed roughly, shifting his cigarette around on his lips. The couple paused outside of an apartment complex and went up the steps, into the foyer.

Jack stood still where he was for a moment. He tossed his cigarette into the wet gutter, glancing around the block for a moment, making a mental note. He furrowed his brow together as he gazed up at the apartment complex. Jack went to the slanted ledge on the other side of the stairs and carefully leaned over, just barely allowing the light of the foyer to touch his face. He could see Rose and that man still speaking with each other. Jack breathed shallowly as he slowly tilted his head to the side, his eyes locked on the man's face. The man leaned forward and he and Rose shared a kiss. Jack felt his stomach plummet. He staggered back from the ledge for a moment, rustling against some wet bushes around him. The foyer door swung open. Jack ducked his head beneath the foliage, her heart beat spiking.

"... Good night, Rose," He heard the man say, before allowing the foyer door to swing shut. Jack paused a beat, listening to the man's heels fade away. Jack scrambled back to the ledge and looked over it. Rose entered the first apartment on the right. Jack sighed, staggering away from the ledge again. His ankle caught a root and he fell flat on his spine. Jack folded his legs together and pressed his clenched fists to his lipsd. He was shaking profusely. He didn't know how to make it stop. He wanted to punch a hole into the wall. He wanted to cry. He wanted to howl in excitement. But he didn't know what one he wanted to do, if any.

Jack reached into his vest pocket, withdrawing his Fatima's and holding them in his shaking fingers. He stared at the orange banner that portrayed a scarved-woman, his eyes following the stars printed across the package. Jack gnawed on his lips a moment and sighed. Using his thumb, he crushed the box in his hand. He bit down so hard with his teeth, he tasted his own blood.

"Lucky, huh... Feh," Jack tossed the cigarettes on the ground carelessly, wraping his arms around his knees. Jack sat in silence, the moist soil soaking into his nice new pants beneath it. But Jack didn't care. He was completely aborsbed within himself at that moment. The cicadas hummed around his as his eyes were locked to the leaves directly in front of him. Slowly, Jack glanced towards the glowing light of the front foyer.

Jack staggered out of the bushes, not even bothering to brush any twigs or leaves off his shoulders or out of his hair. Boldly, he climbed the stairs, pushing strongly through the door. His leather soled shoes echoed in the small foyer as he steamed forward onto the coffee, swinging his legs out confidentally in front of him. Jack paused, looking to the numbers beside her door. _102\. _Jack's blood throbbed as it coursed through the entirety of his body. He bent his knees anxiously and took in a deep breath, raising his hand. Jack knocked on the door, curtly, and twice. He closed his eyes, listening to shifting on the other side of the door. He felt a chill seeping into his bones.

The door flew open and there she was, meerly inches away from him. She had changed into a light blue cotton nightgown, a towel in her hands from washing her face. Jack's face lit up in surprise and hurt. Rose immediately paled. And then she fainted.


	21. Ghosts of the Past

Chapter Twenty-One

_November 10th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The sound of a ticking clock made it faintly to Rose's ears. It swirled in and out. Rose scrunched her eyes up, tilting her head on the couch cushion. The smell of peppermint tea began to waft towards her nose. She recognized the scent instantly as a powder she kept in her cupboard. Rose slowly began to open her eyes. It was bleary at first, but she saw her living room window was exposed, slightly left open to allow the cool night into the room. The room was a flickering in a soft orange light as her eyes ran over her candles piled amongst her books. Rose blinked rapidly, her mind still whirling, as finally, her eyes caught the back of a man, hunched over, standing in front of her bookcase.

Rose propped herself up on her elbow, gently pressing her fingers to her temple, "Tim... I just had a frightful nightmare," She croaked. The man paused and slowly raised his head. Rose felt her hair stand on end when she noticed he was not dark haired. Her breathing shallowed and she remained frozen in place, spread out across the couch. Her nails began to dig into the side of the couch cusion, her eyes shimmering in the light of the candle.

Jack turned to face Rose now and they made direct eye contact with each other. His blue eyes were soft, reflecting hurt in them. He had tears brimming his eyes as he studied every detail of Rose. Slowly, her mouth began to open, but no words came out. She continued to only stare at him, rendered speechless by his presence.

"I suppose it wasn't a nightmare..." She whispered breathily, now standing up on her stocking feet. The coffee table divided them. Rose clutched her nightgown in her hands as she only watched him, making no move to get closer. Her chest rose and fell heavily. She felt like she simply couldn't catch her breath. Finally, she licked her lips and asked, "Are you real? Or are you simply a phantom of my imagination?"

Surprisingly, Jack grinned lop-sidedly, glancing towards his boots momentarily. Rose felt a rush of blood travel towards her head, threatening her with light headedness again. Jack lifted his blue eyes and only watched her, his almond skin gleaming in the candlelight. He licked his lips and slowly nodded, "I think I'm real... what about you?" Rose resorted for a simply nod. Jack crossed to the kitchen and she sheepishly hugged herself, walking towards the breakfast bar. She watched as he poured them both a cup of tea. Jack focused extra hard on now allowing his hands to shake. He set her cup onto the breakfast bar, gently pushing it towards her, his eyes locked on her face.

Rose found herself trembling as she watched Jack take a sip of tea, his blue eyes never leaving her. Here he was, standing before her, and yet she still didn't know what to say. She wanted to laugh, cry, dance, fight; anything. But she did nothing at all. She had spent well over a year longing over a moment exactly like this, where she could finally talk to Jack again. But nothing rose in her throat. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug, her knuckles turning white.

"Jack..." Rose finally breathed. She couldn't force herself to take a sip of tea. She let go of the mug and held her shaking hands to her as she rounded the bar, her nightgown flowing after her. She came to stand on the cold kitchen tile before Jack, tears welling up in her eyes. The first emotion to flood her was anger, she didn't know why, "I thought you were dead."

"I thought _you _were dead," Jack replied, turning towards her. They made no move to close the gap between them. They simply stared at each other, absolutely hurt and confused, "Rose, I read your obituary. They buried you in Philidelphia."

Rose bit down on her lip, nervously fidgeting with her hands, "Rose DeWitt Bukater is dead."

"So, you didn't go back?" Jack asked, rather anxiously.

"How could I?" She whispered, her face glowing in the candle light.

Jack lowered his glassy eyes for a moment and then looked around the apartment surrounding him. He pressed his hands to the cool countertops and gazed out into her living room. He admired the many different stacks of books she had. His eyes darted towards the bookshelves looming against the wall. His eyes took in the dirty state her writing desk was in. Jack paused, drumming his fingers against the countertop for a moment, "You live here all alone?"

"Since last summer, yes," Rose replied, licking her lips slowly.

"How can it be?" Jack wondered aloud. He seemed to be more of rhetorically asking himself. He shook his head, brushing past Rose and walking to her open living room window. His breath fogged the glass up as he gazed out towards the street, and then back to Rose, "You've been living ten blocks away from me this entire time? Rose, it doesn't make sense. Why couldn't I find your name on the list? Were you really going to convince everybody of your past life you were dead?"

Rose walked silently to the back of the couch, setting her trembling hands on the cushion. She gazed across the room towards Jack with a look of hurt, "Did you check for... Rose Dawson?" She whispered. She saw the entirety of Jack's body tense. He drew his shoulders back and pursed his lips. Jack's nostrils flared as he glanced towards the grandfather clock, watching it strike one in the morning. So many regrets plagued the two of them. Together, they separately suffered by the same ruminations. Rose furrowed her brow together now, slowly coming around the couch and approaching Jack who looked rather unsettled in his mind, "How did you find me?" Rose whispered, cocking her head to the side. He watched a fiery curl brush against her round cheeks. A deep longing panged throughout his body.

"I saw you... at the art show," Jack said softly, his lips barely moving. Tears brimmed Rose's eyes now as she realized she had never even seen a fleeting moment of him the entire evening. All she had focused on was Tim's smile, "I work for Frenchie Cohan," Upon recognizing the name, Rose winced in pain. Tim had been so close to crossing paths with Jack months ago. Rose held in the strangled cry growing in her throat as a few tears loosely fell from her wet and heavy eyes. Rose began reviewing the entire evening, scrutinizing every last thing she did, unaware she was being watched. She recounted the kiss she shared with Tim in the foyer and fearfully, Rose's eyes met Jack's.

"Who is he?" Jack asked, gently nodding his head towards her.

Rose's breaths were short and curt as she looked at Jack, "His name is Tim... Tim Calvert."

"Do you love him?"

"Jack, I-"

"It's a simple question," Jack said flatly. Rose felt another rush of blood ooze behind her face. She grew cold looking at Jack. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Uselessly, she shook her head, lowering her eyes.

"I... I don't know."

"I think you do know," Jack crossed his arms over his chest, falling against the wall, "I just think you're scared to hear the answer, too," Jack gazed up towards the ceiling, an empty pang running through him. Slowly, he cocked his eyes look back at Rose, who was silent with tears streaming down her beet red face, "Does it feel the same when you kiss him?" He whispered. A violent chill ran up Rose's spine.

"Jack..." Rose closed her heavy wet eyes and sighed. Her feet moved forward with her telling them, too. She nearly tripped over herself as she grabbed hold of his woolen jacket, "In all these months I've been left to pick up my mess," She told him haughtily and breathlessly, "Nothing even came close to comparing to you."

Jack swallowed roughly and brought his hands up to tenderly grip her elbows. He licked his lips and shook his head, "Do you mean that?" He whispered.

"I do, of course," Rose said, a lump growing in her throat. She brought her unsteady hand up, gently combing it through Jack's bouncy hair. She almost gasped at the silky touch of it again. She had craved to feel it for so long and it overwhelmed her in the moment. Rose took in an uneven breath as she felt his skin beneath her palms, "I've thought about you every single day since the _Titanic_, Jack," She said, her voice oozing with hurt, "You have no idea how much sleep I lost over you..."

"Does he make you feel the same way?" Jack whispered again, his face inches from her. He did his best to remain composed as he soaked in her eyes again, flecked with brown in the center. Her lips, her bottom one being predominate to her top lip naturally. He glanced to her alluring hair, still treated, curled, and pinned to her head.

"No," Rose shook her head.

"So... you don't love him?" Jack asked slowly.

Rose cast her eyes down, "I..." She fell at a loss of words.

Jack parted from Rose, digging his hands into his pockets and walking around her coffee table. He lifted his head, the candles casting long shadows across his face. Rose felt like a brick was caught in her throat. She could barely recall how to make herself breath when she looked at him. Her entire body was trembling, her small frame nearly convulsing. His stare alone ignited something warm inside of her. The heat in her body ate at her, her fingers twitching.

Rose licked her lips slowly, her body wracked with another wave of trembles, "Happy belated birthday, Jack," She said, breathily. His eyes darted to her, hovering over her for a moment. She couldn't believe the past two birthdays, she had whispered that longingly to him and now, he was standing right in front of her.

"How did you know when my birthday was?" Jack asked.

Rose slowly approached her coffee table, moving a book aside and lifting the manilla folder she still had yet to completely comb through. It nearly seared her hand as she lifted it into the space between her and Jack, "I went to Wisconsin in 1912. To find something of you... _anything _I could hold onto about you. I found your birth certificate," She brought the folder close to her, holding it against her nightgown. She took in a deep uneven breath, "I told you I wanted to get off the ship with you. When I didn't find you... your name was all I had left to take with me."

"So, this whole time..." Jack said slowly, facing completely towards her. Her eyes soaked in every detail about him. She was convinced he was going to vanish at any moment, "you've been usin' my name?"

Rose nodded, lowering her eyes to the folder. Her thumb anxiously picked at the tab that had their last name scribbled along the edge. Rose peered up at Jack. He was simply staring at her. It was that same gaze, the one she had missed for well over a year. It was comforting, but still, she found herself fidgeting under his eyes.

"You didn't go back to Cal or your mother?" Jack asked, his voice somewhat husky.

"No," Rose shook her head, her eyes on a candle, "they think I'm dead."

Rose set the folder on the table and crossed towards Jack, falling a few steps short, leaving a gap between them. She folded her hands together, her eyes glossy in the orange flickering light of the candles, "Where have you been, Jack?"

He shifted in his uncomfortable leather shoes for a moment, digging his hands into his coat pockets, "All of 1912 is a blur. I was in the hospital for awhile. Could barely do anything for myself," He smirked momentarily before it was entirely wiped from his face. Rose clung to the twitch of his muscles, "I couldn't even hold a pencil. Towards the end of the year, I was turned out, finally somewhat healthy," Jack crossed towards Rose's window. She turned, watching him go, "Bounced around for awhile here in New York City," He said, peering between the raindrops at the sharp skyline in the distance, "I didn't know if I wanted to stay for awhile. But then, one day, I saw an ad to become an art assistant in a studio. That's how I met Frenchie," Jack looked over his shoulder at Rose. Her heart thudded harshly in her chest as his eyes fell onto her, "He gives me a place to live. He gives me fulfilling work. That's where I've been the whole time. Just a short walk towards the Industrial Sector."

"We've been living on top of each other this entire time," Rose said quietly, "And yet, every night, I cried about you. As if you were a million miles away."

Jack came back towards Rose, tenderly casting his eyes across her, "You cried over me?"

"You know I did."

Jack brought his hand up and touched her cheek, finally. He gave in to feeling that soft porcelain skin. Jack felt as if he knew it so well. As if they had spent a lifetime together. Rose melted into his touch. She felt a heat rising in her body as she felt those familiar calloused. She gripped his wrist, her lips trembling and the tears freely coming from her eyes. Jack leaned in closer to her. She could feel the warmth of his body eminating against her.

"You have no idea how much I cried over you, Rose."

"No one can replace you," Rose croaked, tightening her grip on his wrist, "I was foolish to try- Jack... no one is you. No one will ever be you."

He grinned weakly, "What a horrible thing to say. Look at you..." He sighed and Rose trembled at the sound, "You've got yourself so wound up. Backed into a corner... You have so much potential, so much to give this world... and yet you don't. Because of a street-rat like me."

"You're more than that," Rose said forcefully, the tears coming faster, "Jack, you're my everything. I've spent over a year pining for you. There's so much I've wanted to tell you..."

"And yet, I'm standin' in front you and you're speechless," He smiled.

"I just..." Rose shook her head, swallowing roughly, "I can't believe it, Jack."

"Yeah, I know," Jack wandered away from Rose. She could still feel where he had touched her skin. It radiated, as if he had burned her. Jack looked around the apartment for a moment, listening to the grandfather clock tick, "It's like seeing a ghost from the past. I only wish it had happened sooner, Rose," He lowered his head for a moment, a look of hurt showing in his eyes, "I'm nothing but a mess, even a year later. I live in an attic. I mix paints all day," Jack shrugged, "But you... you seem like you're doing just fine," Rose remained frozen in place, just watching Jack. Her breathing had shallowed, her face red, as still the tears continued silently, "You have a nice place, probably a decent job. And it looks like you've found yourself a nice man."

"Jack..." Rose's voice cracked, her eyes heavy and wet.

"You never needed me," Jack told her, "You just needed a nudge to break out of the complacent little life you lived in."

"No," Rose shook her head and stepped closer to Jack, "I _do _need you."

Jack brought his hand back to her cheek. A qualm came over to Rose as she searched his eyes endlessly, shaking her head in refusal, "But, darlin', you don't. I'd do nothin' but slow you down at this point."

"I am nothing like you think I am," Rose told him, gripping his suspenders beneath his coat, "I am a nobody, Jack. I'm a waitress. I... I don't have anybody in this world."

"But you have Tim."

"I told you I was foolish," Rose's voice rose unsteadily, her nostrils flaring, "I don't-"

Jack pressed his thumb to her lips, quieting her. He looked at her so tenderly, so full of care. She felt like the apple of his eye, but the feeling vanished as she felt her heart ripping to shreds, "You love him. I know you do. And that's fine," Jack leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to Rose's. She felt herself falling out of reality as she hungrily clung to him, gripping his neck beneath her feelings. She captured his lips over and over again as they rubbed against her's. But he pulled away just as fast, stunning the breath from Rose, "I'm just glad you're alive, darling."

"Jack..." She breathed as he slipped from her grip and began towards the door, "Jack!" She tried reaching for his wrist but was a moment too late. Jack paused at the door, watching her. She could tell he was ready to leave and disappear. She could see he was not happy in the way she had dreamt of them being once reuniting. She was shaking, like the fool she was, as she stared at him. Finally, she opened her mouth again, "I have something for you to take," She whirled around, disappearing down the hallway.

Jack heard the sound of drawers being rifled through. He gripped the doorknob tightly, his knuckles turning white. Jack looked around her apartment with a feeling of regret. The blossoming of anger was present, but it was frozen beneath the ice of his sorrow. Jack saw Rose reappear, envelopes gathered in her hands. She slowly approached him, handing them out towards him.

"I wrote these for you..." Rose whispered, watching his hands take hold of them, "Jack, I never stopped loving you. Or thinking about you."

Jack finally raised his eyes from the envelope, looking towards Rose, "Me either," He finally whispered before he opened the door and left. The moment he disappeared, Rose's choked sobs errupted from her throat. She collapsed to her knees, her nightgown circling around her. Something inside of her had snapped. Rose pressed her forehead to the carpet, digging her nails into the ground beside her as she sputtered uselessly for air, his name caught in her throat.


	22. Longing

Chapter Twenty-Two

_November 12th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

"Jack! Jack, are you here?" Frenchie's voice bellowed up the stairwell, coming muffled through his door. Jack was lying on his stomach in bed, his arm dangling off the edge. His eyes gazed towards the door, but he made no move to get up. His white shirt button up was left undone, his white undershirt exposed and pressed flat to his springy mattress, "Jack!" His name reached his ears again. Jack sighed as he heard the sounds of boots, "Jack, I'm coming up!" Jack pressed his face into his pillow as he heard his bedroom door swing open and made out the sound of two sets of feet on the floor. Jack ground his teeth together, "Jack, are you okay?"

Jack turned his face outwards now to peer up at a concerned Frenchie and Iris. Iris had her hands clasped in front of her as she gazed down on him. She took a slight step forward, but Jack began to speak, stopping her, "I'm fine."

"Then... why are you still in bed?" Frenchie asked, glancing towards the window, "It's nearly eleven in the morning."

Jack squinted as he also looked at the window, then back to Frenchie, "What does it matter?"

"I'm worried about you," Frenchie told him, crossing his arms over his chest, "You disappeared after the art show. You came down for just a glass of water yesterday. And it looks like you were on track to continue that spree today."

"I'm just tired," Jack cast his eyes down to their shoes, sinking his head further into his pillow, "Is it a crime to spend a day in bed?"

"No, no," Frenchie held in an exasperated sigh, "I'm worried. You're not feeling ill, right? Being out in that rain didn't make you sick?"

"Nothing like that," Jack croaked, lifting his eyes to Frenchie now, "I'm just tired. Okay?"

"When will you come back downstairs?" Frenchie asked, a frown forming on his lips, "I miss your company. We've finally got some downtime before the holiday fiasco's start. Let's use it wisely, hm?"

Jack sighed and rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes pensively, "This _is _how I want to spend my downtime, Frenchie," He snapped, his eyes glued to the ceiling, his face rock hard.

"Oh..." Frenchie muttered. After a moment, he simply left the room. Jack sighed again, looking towards where Frenchie was once standing. He cursed under his breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

Iris stood silently where she was, hugging herself at her elbows. She glanced towards Jack's bedroom door, but paused, looking back to Jack tangled up in his bed sheets. Iris could tell Jack looked miserable. Something had happened. Iris picked at her nail for a moment and cleared her throat, finally having the courage to speak up, "I think this has somethin' to do with what happened at the end of the art show."

"Oh, and what's that?" Jack asked, still resigned to staring at the rafters.

"I don't know," Iris shrugged, "You tell me. You're the only said he would later."

Jack shook his head, "That's just it. Nothing happened."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jack opened his mouth, but his voice failed to come out. He paused, huffing, and flaring his nostrils in frustration, "Nothing," He finally said, "Just... forget it," Jack slumped his head back into his pillow.

"No, I don't want to just forget it," Iris approached his bedside, throwing her hands at her side, "Whatever happened, it's confined you to bed. I can see how horribly shaken up you are. I know you, Jack. Better than you think I do."

His eyes slowly rolled towards her, "Nothing happened."

Iris pursed her lips for a moment, a fire growing in her stomach. She turned away from Jack and slammed the door after her. Jack sighed as he listened to her heels clunk down the stairs. The rafters resounded after the shake for a few moments before quieting down. Jack listened to the cold wind rustle outside, occasional rain drops pelting the glass. He folded his hands together over his stomach and laid there in misery. He rolled onto his side to face the wall, but something beneath him crumpled. Jack rolled back, propping himself up on his elbow. He reached into his carelessly disregarded coat pocket and pulled out five envelopes, all numbered, with his name written delicately across the front.

Jack heaved a sigh, falling back onto his pillow and holding the letters up in front of his eyes. He trembled at the thought of recalling her holding them, touching them. He ground his teeth together and cursed again, "Dammit, Rose. Why? Why do you do this to me!?" He dropped the letters beside him on his bed and spread his arms and legs out around him, "Ever since I first saw you, I've done nothing but pine after you like some sort of love-sick puppy. Why is the timing never right? Why is it never just me...?"

He closed his eyes, his voice strained, "That's what I get, huh, Rose? This is just what happens when a poor boy likes a rich girl. I guess you can never just be mine," He sighed, shaking his head, "I'm a fuckin' chump," He said, looking at his rafters miserably.

...

Rose had to call out of work. She just felt like she couldn't face anybody outside her door at the moment. After she had used Edgar's phone, she had hurried to a nearby street vendor and returned to her house just as quick. It was a gloomy day outside. She came in through her apartment door and shrugged out of her peacoat. Before she hung it on the wrack, she reached into the pocket and fished out the pack of cigarettes she had just purchased. She crossed to her window, pushing it open, uncaring of the drizzle outside. Rose grabbed a stool from her breakfast bar and pressed her shoulders to the cool wall as she lit her cigarette, making sure to get most of the smoke out the window.

She sighed and glanced out the window as the morning began. Rose shivered at the thought of Tim walking to the diner, probably right that moment. He would be surprised to find Rose had not come in. She knew it only would be a matter of time before Tim came knocking on her door. Rose trembled as she thought about seeing him again. She didn't want to. When she thought of Tim, all she felt was foolish.

"Who was I kidding?" She muttered to herself, tapping her ash out the window. Upon seeing Jack, Rose felt such an overwhelming amount of conflicting feelings. In the first moment, she thought all of her questions had been answered upon seeing his face. But in the next moment, she couldn't but felt she slipped into a pitfall, that she had damned herself. But now Rose knew one thing for certain. She raised her green eyes, watching as the rain began to steadily pick up in pace. The people on the street copied in suit, dashing for cover. Rose heaved a sigh, placing her cigarette between her lips. She knew now that Tim was not the one for her. She had used him as a placeholder.

Rose felt her stomach constrict at the thought. She blinked rapidly as a chilly gust swept by her window. She had really fooled herself, hadn't she? She had herself completely obliged to the idea Tim could actually replace Jack. How could she be so stupid? Rose flicked her cigarette out the window and slammed the window shut. She immediately crossed back to the door, pulling on her peacoat, grabbing her purse, and reaching for an umbrella. She glanced around her apartment for a moment before sighing and heading out the door.

She felt like needed to walk. To clear her mind. And Rose absolutely knew she could not be here when Tim stopped by.

...

Jack started when he woke up, but sunk back into his pillow, rubbing his eyes. He glanced to his clock to realize he had fallen asleep for nearly two hours and it was drawing into the afternoon. The rain had picked up and pelted against the building crookedly, powerful gusts whipping the trees back and forth. Jack paused, listening to the thunder ring out overhead. He rotated himself in bed slightly and paused, when he realized he was bending some of the envelopes Rose had given him. He stared at them for a moment, gradually his unexpected nap rolling off his shoulders. He reached for the first envelope and tore it open. Jack was slightly disappointed to see she had not handwritten the note, but he was pleased to see she had doodled a heart in the top right hand corner of the paper. Jack held it between his hands as he gained the courage to read it.

_June 13th, 1912_

_Dear Jack,_

_ There's not a moment that has passed in these eight weeks when you did not occupy my mind. I've graciously been offered housing at the Women's Clinic of North New York City until I can find my bearings since the entire ordeal. I don't know what's left for me, Jack. I thought I wanted this. Part of me still thinks I do. I suppose I'm just not used to being alone. I never have been before. New York City is different than how I remember. Maybe I'm just seeing it without those rose-colored glasses my mother insisted I wear throughout my childhood. There's something spectacular seeming about New York City, yet most nights I lie awake wondering if I could ever find something of that magnitude again. Something 'spectacular'. Like you were. Like our time together was..._

_ One thing eats away at me constantly. I never had the chance to ask you, Jack, what you were coming back to America for? Why had your journeys in Europe stopped? Part of me wishes you never had made that decision. I wish you had never boarded the Titanic. That way, you could have continued to live. But then... we never would have met and I'm left making circles in my mind. Every night, I try to see you in my dreams, but you're never there. Other people are, but never you. It drives me crazy, Jack. Am I damned to never see your face again? Is my mind trying to make me forget what you ever looked like? I could never forget you... why does my mind insist, as if it will make things easier for me?_

_ There's a local therapist to the clinic who comes and visits on Tuesday and Thursday's. His name is Dr. Wilson. The clinic insists on each one of us patients spending a few hours with him a week to discuss things. All week, I feel like I have this mounting of words growing in me, an endless disorganized manifesto to tell this man, yet when I walk into that uncomfortably sterile room, with stiff leather chairs, all my words disappear. Dr. Wilson and I will spend the next hour only making small talk. Answering minute questions that answer none of my growing fears and anxieties about the future. I just feel like I can't open up anymore, Jack. I gave you that key and it was lost with you. I'm beginning to worry that I'll never feel comfortable with anybody again, like I was with you._

_ I'm trying for you, Jack. It's all I have left to do._

_ Forever yours, Rose_

Jack sat up as he finished the letter. He sat criss cross on his bed, the rain drops pattering against his windowsill. He placed his fist to his lips for a moment as he lost himself in his mind. Jack glanced to the letter in his hand before he folded it, pensively looking to his lips and eyeing letter number two. His hands shook momentarily before reached for it, ripping the envelope open and carelessly disregarding it on the floor.

_September 26th, 1912_

_ Dear Jack,_

_ The days since Titanic seem to flow past me and yet, the pain has not lessened in any way for me. Most days I've sat wondering if any other survivors are having as hard as a time as me coming to terms. I know I have to accept what happened. But I don't. Not in the least. There are so many unanswered questions, so many things that have no justification. How am I just supposed to accept anything? I can't allow myself to be brushed aside anymore, Jack. Given a stupid shit-eating grin and a laugh, pat on the head, told not to worry about such things._

_ If you were still here, forced to deal with the aftermath of this fiasco, do you think you would still stand by what you did before? Do you think you would still believe in all the things you did? I'm trying, Jack. I'm trying to believe in everything you did. Some days, I miss living in the clinic. Everyone there would call me Ms. Dawson. It felt so wonderful hearing your name said aloud again. It's the whole reason I took your name, Jack. Just for that chance of someone saying it, making a tingle run down my spine. Rose Dawson. I think you would have liked the way it sounded._

_ I think if we would have survived together, we would still believe in all those things... and maybe even more. I'm doing my best to hold it down, Jack. I've gotten my own apartment since leaving the clinic. I even have gotten a job. Just as a waitress, but it gets me out of the house. It's teaching me what normal is, if there even is such a thing. _

_ I saw the Wisconsin mountains and pine trees for the first time this month. I'd never been to Wisconsin before. It was beautiful, but everything seemed so far away in a state like that. The trees, though... you carry that scent with you, always. I wish I could have packaged all the pine trees up and taken them back to New York City with me. I would have planted them in my apartment so when I closed my eyes, I could pretend you were sitting next to me again. It's the little things you miss when someone is gone, Jack. Your scent, your mannerisms... that laugh. It's all that occupies my mind, trying to recall every moment with you, in hopes of finding comfort before another sleepless night._

_ Forever yours, Rose_

Jack blinked rapidly, his eyes growing glossy. He reached for the next letter as tears brimmed his eyes. Again, he dropped the envelope to the ground, the read letters discarded in his lap as his eyes hungrily scanned the next.

_November 5th, 1912_

_ Dear Jack,_

_ The day to your birthday is growing near. Twenty-one years old. It's a disservice to the world you were only able to be here for twenty years. The earth lost a sun they didn't even know they had. I've lost my entire universe it feels like. I celebrated my neighbor's fifthteenth birthday a few weeks ago. It's amazing how every year, we celebrate the birth of a human. I only wish I could the same for you. I'd bake you a cake, sing to you, embarrass you. Being at her birthday party, watching her relish in the center of attention, attended by people who obviously adored her... it made me long for the same thing for you, Jack._

_ November 8th will come and go, no one will even notice. And that breaks my heart. I realize now it's one of the most important days of my life. It was the day my savior was born. It's funny to think about, though, because you lived a whole three years on this earth before the person you were destined to save joined you. It's amazing to think, just north of me, growing up, you were alive. Living at the same time of me and we were completely oblivious to the other's life._

_ Why were our lives only destined to meet so briefly, Jack? I feel like us, together, needed well over a century. Wrapped in each other's arms, sharing our darkest secrets, warding off our most vile demons. I will always be grateful for the time we did have together but I will always be left wondering what could have really been. What would we have done together? Gone to the west coast, to find those damned rollercoasters we always spoke about? Drinking cheap beer state-to-state, collecting little sterling silver spoons to match our travels? Would we have finally settled down in an old house that had been deemed a fixer-upper? Would we have had children and raised them by all those things we used to believe in? About the sunset, about freedom, about living?_

_ I'm sat here, ten years away from my body, just wondering... what could have been between you and I, Jack Dawson? What would we have finally done if not confined to the center of the ocean amongst our daydreaming? I will always wonder what we would have done, Jack. And I will never stop._

_ Forever yours, Rose_

Jack closed his eyes for the briefest moment, pressing the edge of the letter to his forehead. He exhaled unevenly as a gust of wind rattled his window pane. He swallowed roughly, dropping the letter into his lap. He reached for the next one, his cheeks tear stained, and his brow knitted together as he braced himself for the next letter.

_July 3rd, 1913_

_ Dear Jack,_

_ It's been awhile since I last confided in you. But, still, not a day has passed where you haven't been apart of it. I've tried my bid at normalcy. I really did. And yet, I've fallen short again. At my job, there has been a constant customer by the name of Tim Calvert. He's a rather simple man, content by something as miniscule as a good brew of coffee. He's a lawyer here in New York City. For as long as I have served at this diner, Mr. Calvert has come every morning for the same coffee and the same breakfast. I even learned just how he liked his coffee brewed._

_ It seemed, for awhile, he was interested in me. My co-workers and boss constantly teased me over the idea he was sweet on me. No matter what, I was the one who always served him. I eventually gave in to the idea of seeing him outside of work. I will admit, Jack, it felt wonderful to simply have someone to sit in a room with again. To feel the presence of somebody. But, like I've realized, the key to me is missing. There is no replacement. Not even a skeleton key could fix me._

_ Tim genuinely is a good guy, but I can't give myself into him. I try, for the sake of normalcy, Jack, but I simply can't. I can never give my full-self to him as I was so easily able to do you. And I've realized this more recently. I met Tim's family at his parent's anniversary party. He has a large family. A normal family. One's that weren't at each other's necks, offering silent treatments and cold shoulders. They all seemed so... happy, in a way. They exuded a happiness I was unfamiliar with. It was heartwarming but almost... disheartening at the same time. I thought myself to be a rather odd one out. I wondered why Tim would even give me as much as a second glance._

_ I tried to off-put this feeling. I tried to fight it. All for the sake of finding a groove, a sense of normalcy. That damned word again. I was so obsessed over it. As if it would magically happen and I would know. In this friviolous stage of disengagement, I attempted to give my full-self to Tim in a way I had given to you. Physically. With my eyes closed, I could briefly imagine it was you I was sharing those kisses with again, feeling you inside of me once more, like it was meant to be. But he'd touch me with those hands, Jack, and it would shatter the illusion. They didn't feel like you. They were missing the callouses, the rough grooves, the ones that gave you the dignification of an artist of many ways. Tim's hands are too soft. They didn't feel right. Not like your hands did._

_ And now I just feel awful about myself, Jack. All I can think about is how I felt all those months ago, laid up in bed, tangled in the sheets of the clinic room. I remember distinctly looking at the full moon just outside my window, crying, and thinking with you gone, I had truly lost my shot at true love. I told myself it was you. It could only be you. I wish I had given up right there in that clinic bedroom, wrapped up in those sheets. I wish I would have made myself believe that then. Why did I have to prove it to myself? My heart only bleeds more, my entire insides shake at the thought of what I did to put myself into this entire new world of hurt._

_ I miss you more than anything, Jack. I miss the ways you allowed me to touch the stars._

_ Forever yours, Rose_

Jack dropped the letter into his lap and rubbed his face, his cheeks tinging red. His heart was thudding in his chest, his breathing shallow, as he thought about Rose. He thought about what she had lived through in the past year. It was enough to make his heart break. He exhaled unevenly, reaching for the final letter, which he guessed would be more recent. His eyes fleetingly glanced to the date, considering what he had been doing while she had been sitting in front of a typewriter, printing his name over and over again.

_October 1st, 1913_

_ Dear Jack,_

_ It's been a year since I have been in Wisconsin, but if I close my eyes and imagine the trees, I can remember the aroma they put off into the air. That sharp and nearly musky scent that was so intoxicating about you, wafting through the ocean air. Can you believe it? It's been nearly a year and a half since I last saw you, but I still know how you smell. It's one of the very few ways I can still remember you, though. I can still see that sandy blond hair, those blue eyes, that smile... but the smell evokes something physical in me. It's what I cling to now._

_ My endeavor for normalcy has subsided. I think I'm beginning to understand how to simply live in this world, finally. My parents spent so much money sending me to a finishing school and yet, it seems rather useless to me now. I don't live in anyway they had predicted for me. They didn't teach you what to do when you fell in love with another man while engaged to someone else. I've created quite the mess for myself, haven't I? I imagine you were good at cleaning things like this up..._

_ That feeling is still not gone, Jack. Even as I have continued to see Tim, all I can imagine is if it was you. When I walk along the street, I pretend you're beside me. I hold an internal conversation between us. I know, it sounds crazy. I feel crazy reading it back, but the ink is set and facts are facts. I cannot get over you. Not now, not ever. Nothing will make these feelings go away, Jack. I'm worried they'll continue to bloat me, bigger and bigger, until I simply burst and cannot go a moment more without you. The days are only counting until then, when I can finally be reunited with you._

_ But still, I'll try for you. As I always have done._

_ Forever yours, Rose_

Jack swept his legs over the side of his bed, allowing all the letters to flutter to the ground and splay out around him. He raked his hand through his hair, some tear drops gleaming on his cheeks as he looked over the lot of them. He sighed and dipped his head down, resting his sweaty hand on the back of his neck. All of these confessions lay before him. Jack squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of Rose's face that night he saw her. How hurt, confused, confunded she looked.

He raised his head and looked towards his window, clenching his fists. He watched the rain wash against the window pane over and over again. Jack closed his eyes and released the slightest breath, "Rose, I'm sorry."

...

Rose had been walking for hours around New York City in the rain. She kept one hand dug deep into her peacoat, the other holding the umbrella over her head. Not many people wandered the street given the weather conditions. Rose felt as if she hadn't given anything a fleeting thought, but she supposed she had thought about some things as she found herself standing outside the building for Tim's law office.

Rose paused and took a deep breath, glancing towards the glossy wet brick beside her. Some business men arriving from a late lunch brushed past her and through the glass doors leading into the checkered marbled room of the foyer. Rose finally willed herself to follow in their steps. She pressed her shoulder to the cold and wet door, folding her umbrella as she entered the realtively quiet building. There was the faint sound of typewriters and shoes to carpet, but Rose ignored it all, her eyes locked on the elevator that would take her up.

Rose shook her umbrella for a moment and stepped forward, her black heels clunking on the marble and resounding off all the walls around her. She allowed herself to step purposefully, meaningfully, briskly towards the elevator. The elevator attendant flashed her a smile.

"Which floor, ma'am?" He asked, sliding the gate closed after Rose.

She took a moment to breath before looking to the attendant, "The twelth level, please."

When she arrived, Rose looked to the familiar hunter green carpet with the yellow vine design weaving down the length of the long hallway. Rose walked slowly, holding her umbrella firmly at her side. She paused, swallowing roughly as she looked at a door that had TIM CALVERT LAWYER printed across it. She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils.

After she had a few seconds to compose herself, she knocked on the door and was beckoned inside by his friendly voice. Rose walked through the door and stopped when she saw Tim sitting at his desk. Law books surrounded him, one bright light pouring over him, as he scoured every last sentence in the six books, extensively taking notes as he did so. When he saw it was Rose, however, he immediately paused, swinging the lamp away from him and standing up.

"Rose, it's nice to see you," He grinned pleasantly, coming around his desk to greet her.

Rose closed the door behind her, laying her umbrella up against the wall. She looked to Tim, nearly trembling in his gaze. He pressed his hands to his hips and cleared his throat.

"Did you want some coffee? Are you feeling alright? I didn't see you at the diner this morning," Tim said, gesturing for her to take a seat. Rose didn't move, though.

"I feel fine," Rose told him, glued in place as she gazed at him. Behind him, the large wall length windows were drenched in the rain coming down, "I just... I need my space sometimes... you understand," Rose said, breathily.

"Is everything alright?" Tim asked, cocking a bold brow up.

"I think so," Rose nodded, "I just... I wanted to see you," Rose crossed to Tim, standing in front of him now, "I wanted to kiss you. That's all," She whispered, gazing into those familiar hazel eyes. Tim grinned at the gesture. Rose couldn't muster the muscles to pull her lips in the upright direction. Instead, she slowly brought her hand up, grazing his smooth jawline, and drawing him into her. She met his lips firmly, allowing herself to fully engage in the kiss. Rose closed her eyes, tilting her head to the side. The thunder rumbled lowly above them, but still their kiss continued.

After a few moments, they paused, and Rose looked into his eyes, "Thank you," She whispered, "I'll let you get back to work now."

Rose began towards the door, reaching for her umbrella, but Tim's voice beckoned after her, "You know, Rose..." He grinned, rubbing the nape of his neck, "I certainly wouldn't mind if you made more interruptions like that in the future."

Rose paused, glancing towards her umbrella, and then back to Tim, grinning weakly, "I will keep that in mind, Tim. I'll see you later," She slipped out the door, trying to mask any hurry that she was in. She decided to take the stairs down, unwilling to wait for the elevator. After she had barrelled down two flights she stopped, in the barren concrete stairwell. Her shoulders fell up and down heavily as she fell against a wall, tears brimming her eyes.

The kiss had sealed it. Tim wasn't the one for her. She compared his lips to Jack's over and over again. Rose rubbed her eyes as they grew stingingly red. She sighed unevenly, her head bonking against the concrete wall. That brief kiss Jack gave her those few nights ago resounded more than any kiss she had shared with Tim in the past year.

With wet eyes, Rose looked towards the next stairwell down, leading towards her exit. She knew where her feet would take her to next. How could she stay away?

"I'm a spoiled brat," Rose whispered, coming to the top of the stairs as some lone tears streaked down her cheeks, "I want what I can't have and I'll be damned if it's forbidden."

Rose cast one more glance up towards the stairwells behind her, the ones that lead her back to Tim. But Rose pursed her lips and shook her head, now looking in front of her at the stairs that beckoned her down, back towards what she always longed for and desired. Without a second thought, Rose lifted her skirt and descended, her umbrella tucked under her arm.


	23. Déjá Vu

Chapter Twenty-Three

_November 12th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose didn't even bother opening her umbrella as she walked through New York City. Many people looked to her as she marched through the rain, her coat soaking it in, her hair becoming heavy and straight against her head. She didn't care, though. She had only one thing at the forefront of her mind. And it was Jack. It was all she was focused on.

The hem of her dress was growing heavy as it became wet, slinging against her ankles that powerfully strode forward, splashing through the puddles. Water speckled to her ankle, sliding down into her pump, but still she walked without the slightest care in the world. As the skyline dipped, she knew she was approaching the edge of the industrial section. Rose threw her umbrella onto the ground as she paused, looking up at the large building before her.

Just above the entrance of a door painted red, it said FRENCHIE'S STUDIO in bold black lettering along the threshold. Rose looked to the door, the rain pattering on her shoulders. She felt a chill come over her as she glanced to the sky, rain drops bouncing off her cheeks and forehead. Rose sighed, shifting her arms slightly in her sopping wet coat.

Without a second thought, Rose threw the door open and entered, letting it shut heavily behind her. The door echoed through the empty space. Rose slowly wandered in, holding her chattering teeth shut as she glanced robotically amongst the empty space. There was a large communal table covered in papers and paint brushes. Along the walls, there were tall canvases beggining to be painted. Rose turned in a full circle as she walked, soaking the workspace in.

She paused in front of a painting she recognized. The one sole painting that had not sold at the art show that fateful night. A scene of debutauntes. Rose scuritinized every part of the scene. It reminded her of her time as a debutaunte. Rose paused, however, upon noticing a red headed debutaunte at the top of the stairs. Her eyes darted to the side to notice another red head on the dance floor. One in front of the window. Rose's breathing shallowed as she wondered if Jack had painted it. Rose shivered in her peacoat.

"Rose?" She was startled, swirling around towards a door she hadn't noticed along the the back wall. Jack was standing there with a glass of water in hand, his attire loose and simply thrown on. He seemed just as shocked to see her.

"Jack, I-"

"You're soaking wet," Jack set his glass on the table and crossed to her, pulling the peacoat off of her. She allowed him to. He set the heavy garment across the table to allow it to air dry. He looked to her with arched eyebrows, his hand lingering at the edge of the table.

"I have something to tell you," Rose said from across the studio. Jack felt himself tremble as the background that surrounded Rose was of the red headed debutauntes, barely different than how she was meerly two years ago. Rose crossed to him now, "I told you I was a fool. I meant that. I am an idiot. You have no idea how long I dreamt about you, pined after-"

"Yes. I do," Jack told her softly. She pasued, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked up to him, "Rose, I read those letters you gave me. Did you not expect me to?" Rose didn't say anything. Her eyes became glassy as she looked at him.

"I wrote them with the intention of never being looked at again. What I said might-"

"No, you meant what you said," Jack told her. He reached out, touching her chilled skin, "Rose, you don't have anything to explain to me. I understand and I'm sorry..." He lowered his eyes for a moment, "Tim still seems like a genuinely good guy, though. I can't compete."

"I'm not asking you to," Rose shook her head.

"What are you saying?" He asked, his blue eyes stunning her.

"Jack," Rose said breathily, stepping even closer to him. He felt a droplet of cold rain water on his hand as her wet hair shifted on her shoulders, "I'm telling you I want to be with you. Only you."

"But what about Tim?"

"If I knew you were alive, I never would have given him a second glance," Rose told him. She was growing cold in her wet attire now as she stood before Jack, "This is different, Jack."

"How so?" He cocked a bold brow up.

"I'm not _promised _to him," Rose said, her green eyes darting between his, "I'm not engaged. I'm not _his. _I'm not his belonging. The only person I belong to is you, Jack."

"So you're really just going to leave Tim for me?" Jack looked to her, something inside of him trembling. How dearly he wanted to give in to her, but still, he felt something holding him back. It was his own self. He only wanted what was best for Rose. He truly thought she was doing well between the two of them in the amount of time that had passed. He was rather astounded to hear that Rose wanted to throw it all away, again, to be with him.

"Yes, I am," Rose nodded. She came closer to him now, their faces only inches apart, "Do you know how long I've waited to see you again? I thought it would have taken so much longer, until the end of my days," She reached up, her cool hand touching his prickly jaw, sending goosebumps across his skin. His breathing shallowed, his eyes flickering to her lips momentarily, "And do you think, now, that I'd let anything stop me from being with you?"

Jack slowly brought his hands to her waist, her dress cold and moist beneath his sweaty palms. He licked his lips and swallowed roughly, "This is what you want?" He whispered, putting every ounce of himself into keeping his voice steady, "Please, really, just think about everything you've done... everything you've accomplished _without _me."

"Jack," Rose smiled and he melted at the sight of it. She gripped his wrists tightly, "just put your hands on me again."

Jack didn't need to be told twice. His head surged forward, meeting her lips with great urgency. The kiss deepened and their tongues met momentarily. Jack looped his arms around Rose's waist and effortlessly lifted her. He twirled them in a circle, placing her to sit on the table. Jack's hands hungrily ran down her thigh, then back to her waist, knotting her dress in his hands. Rose ran her hands through his blond hair, relishing in every moment of his hands on her. It felt right, finally. She felt as if she had acheived the equilibrium her body had been begging her for. Her entire body felt so hot, so electrified. This was how it was supposed to be, she told herself.

Jack nibbled at her neck, tickling her. She giggled, pressing her cheek against his silky hair. She wrapped her legs around Jack's torso, bringing him closer, if that was even possible. Their bodies were melding together as they continued their passionate kisses. Rose tugged Jack's shirt off his shoulders. Since it was unbuttoned, he was easily able to shrug it off and let it crumple to the floor. She then tugged at his undershirt, grinning all the while. He returned a rather bashful smile before tearing it off as well, exposing his bare chest. She noted he was paler than he once was, but felt as if she knew his body as well as she used to. Jack's hand tenderly grazed up her leg, slipping beneath her skirt. A heat welled up inside of Rose as she felt his familiar fingers and those rigid callouses.

Rose tilted her head back and let out a breathy sigh. It seemed to her he still remembered everything about her body as well. A feeling of ecstasy was radiating from within her. She scrunched her toes up in her heels, glancing towards her skirt, watching the shifting of his hand beneath the wet cotton. Jack reached up behind her, yanking the zipper down on her dress. She laid out across the table, allowing him to pull it off of her. Jack dropped the dress to the floor, removing her heels in the same deft movement. He took a moment to look over her porcelain skin. He touched her bare stomach gently, sliding his hands across her. Jack nearly shook at the thought. She felt exactly how she did in every dream he had of her. And here she was, all for him.

Rose propped herself up on her elbow and grinned at him. He leaned in close to her face, gently cupping her breast, "I see you've stopped wearing corsets. Not like you ever needed one," He whispered hotly. Rose felt herself throb beneath his touch. He lowered his hand again, all the while meeting her lips over and over, "Is this what you wanted?"

"You have no idea how long I've dreamt about this," She whispered, her hands sliding through his hair, over his ears, and down his neck, "I've craved you for so long, Jack..." She gasped slightly as his hands ran over a sensitive spot. He smiled, continuing right there, watching her shudder in pleasure, "Don't ever go away again, Jack, please," She whispered, pressing her forehead to his.

"I'm not going anywhere," He said.

"Good," Rose said curtly, brushing her skin against his, "I wouldn't let you, anyway."

There was a heat mounting in Jack as he continued to touch and kiss Rose. He hadn't indulged in this pleasure in well over a year and it's as if all dreams came true that he could enjoy it with Rose once again. Rose's breathing shallowed as his hand continued. He watched her hungrily, nearly trembling at the sight of her fluttering eyelashes. He still couldn't believe it, that she was here in the flesh. That he was touching her, hearing that melodic voice, seeing those flaming curls. Jack almost partly thought he was simply dreaming, napping away upstairs, rather than actually living in this moment. He glanced fleetingly to the door but was drawn back to Rose as she gripped his shoulders and tilted her head back, a moan rising from her. He grinned as he felt her muscles tighten, her legs wrapping around his hips and pulling him into the side of the table. Her voice resounded in the studio, bouncing off the walls that had confined him for nearly a year.

She pulled Jack against her as her moans began to recede. Breathily, she pressed her forehead back to his. Rose giggled and Jack pulled his head back, looking to the flushed girl who was grinning all the while. He couldn't help but smile, too, "What's so funny?" He whispered.

Rose's green eyes pierced his, her smile still spread across her face, "I haven't felt this feeling in over a year," She brushed some of his blond hair from his forehead, "Not this kind of pleasure."

Jack grinned lop-sidedly, his hand running along the curve of her body, "Me either."

Jack grabbed Rose's hips, pulling her closer. She laughed breathily at the rough gesture and looked to his eyes which were gleaming with anxious anticipation. He took a moment to stroke her soft skin, making her shudder. Rose bit down on her lip as Jack continued to simply run his palms over her. Her heart was racing in her chest. She reached for his belt, grabbing hold on the buckle and making him pause. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"What are you waiting for?" She smiled, her slender fingers grazing down his chest.

"I just can't get over how beautiful you are."

Rose felt her blood throbbing beneath her skin, "Then take me," She whispered, "Take all my beauty in."

Jack crushed his lips against her's again. She heard the clattering of his belt buckle as he fumbled with it, nearly hurried to get it undone. He didn't even bother removing his pants, he simply unzipped them and did what he dreamt of for nearly a year. Rose gasped upon feeling him, her nails digging into his bare skin. A shudder ran up her spine as she felt the missing puzzle piece complete her. For Jack, it was nearly an overwhelming feeling. One he had thought about daily. One that kept him up at night. He gave himself fully into the moment, relishing each ticking second. His eyes flickered towards Rose's face, who seemed to be lost in the pleasure herself.

Jack's entire body began to tingle as finally it ended just as quick as it started. He inahled sharply, pressing his forehead to Rose's shoulders. His entire body was shifting between heat and a chill as he finished. Rose wrapped her legs around Jack's torso again, relishing in the feeling of him throbbing before her. They remained where they were for a few short moments after that, wrapped in each other's arms, each breathing heavily, weighing between waves of pleasure and bouts of shock that this had finally happened.

Rose reached up, cupping Jack's cheek. Tears brimmed her eyes as she analyzed his face, soaking in that he was really here, standing right there in front of her. As the tears began to stream down her face, she smiled, and whispered, "I love you."


	24. Versus the World

Chapter Twenty-Four

_November 12th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Evening began to set in, but still, New York City was covered in dark clouds and pelted by a steady downpour. Jack and Rose listened to the patter of the rain drops on the open window of his attic room. Rose found the room rather charming and very much so Jack. Slanted ceilings, obtrusive rafters; it seemed like a creative space, perfect for someone such as him. They laid in his bed, tangled beneath the sheets. They each had a cigarette between their lips. They smoked in silence, their nude bodies pressed against each other.

"Does anyone else live here?" Rose asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke upwards towards the rafters. She held his light blue cotton sheets over her bare chest, glancing towards the side of Jack's face. He had been mesmerized by the ceiling during the entirety of their smoke break between love-making sessions.

Jack shook his head, slowly lifting his cigarette from his lips, "Nope. Frenchie and his sister, Iris, only come on weekdays so we can all make art. Otherwise, I'm here by myself," He smirked now, cocking his head to look at her. His eyes fleetingly darted towards the pile of curls splayed out around her on the thin extra pillow he had, "Do you think if someone else lived here, I would have had you on the table down there like that?"

Rose's face heated up, her cheeks growing beet red. She stuck her tongue out at him and took another drag of her cigarette, "Never hurts to ask," She chucked now, a hazy ribbon of smoke wafting between them. Rose looked to the ceiling for a moment and sighed contently before looking back towards Jack, "So, you're Frenchie's assistant? To be honest, when I saw his name in the pamphlet, I was quite perplexed. I've never met someone named Frenchie."

Jack grinned, "Well, his real name is Frederick, but apparently that's what Iris called him when she was beginning to talk, so the entire family just stuck with that."

"Iris and Frenchie sound nice," Rose said, looking back to the rafters again, "I like them because they've done so much for me."

"What do you mean?" Jack knit his eyebrows together. He shifted on the small bed, the springs creaking in protest.

"You told me that night at my apartment," Rose tilted her head towards him, "that you didn't know if you wanted to stay in New York City. If you had left, just imagine..." She shook her head at the thought, "We may have never seen each other again. But Frenchie and Iris... they gave you a reason to stay. In a way, they bridged our meeting once again."

"You know," Jack shifted his cigarette between his lips, "the same could be said about Tim. Isn't he the one who bought you those tickets to the art show?"

Rose felt her heart beat out of time for a moment. Her cigarette hovered in front of her lips as she stared straight above her. She licked her lips slowly and turned her eyes on Jack, "I suppose so."

"Can I ask you something?" Jack reached up, snubbing his cigarette out in a cluttered ash tray on his nighttable. Rose nodded slowly. Jack was silent for a few moments, calculating his words. He adjusted the cotton sheets on his body and thought deeply, "What was it about Tim that attracted you towards him? What made you like him?"

Rose snubbed her cigarette out as well and fidgeted with the sheets covering her body. She was hesitant to even entertain the thought, but she found herself sifting through all the memories she had made in the past year. She felt a surging pulse of blood beneath her skin as she recalled this time last year, Tim was actively pursuing her, trying to see her outside of the diner. She pensively licked her lips and sheepishly shrugged, turning her head on the pillow, "He was... nice," She said, rather faintly, "It seemed like he genuinely cared."

"And did he?" Jack asked, some of his blond hair spilling across his forehead.

Rose nodded stiffly, "He did... or, does, I suppose."

Jack stared at the side of her face for a moment before taking a short curt breath and saying, "Tim has no idea I exist, does he?"

Rose's eyes still remained glued upwards. She pensively shook her head, "No. He doesn't."

"Does he know anything about your past?"

"Some. Only what I wanted him to know," Rose finally cocked her head to the side and looked at Jack, "He knows I used to be Rose DeWitt Bukater. He knows about Cal. He knows about the _Titanic._ I told I had left Cal... but hadn't told him why."

"Why wouldn't you tell him?" Jack asked, shifting his arm under his pillow.

"I don't know," Rose sighed, turning on her side to face Jack. Their faces were only inches apart now as they shared the small bed. Overhead, thunder rumbled lowly, "I don't know if it's fear of revisiting the past or maybe..." She shrugged, "I was scared of what he would think of me."

"But Cal was horrible to you. He scared you," Jack whispered, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Maybe so, but we live in a society that turns a blind eye to all of that," Rose replied, her face etched in stress, worry, and anxiety, "I thought maybe he would think I was frivilous. What's horrible is that... well, I withheld details and now I think Tim has all the wrong idea about me. I believe he thinks I'm someone I'm not. And I just can't bring myself to tell him," Rose reached out, gently brushing Jack's jaw and allowing her hand to fall across his neck, "That's why I always longed for you. I don't have to hide anything from you. You understand me..."

Jack reached forward, wrapping his arms around Rose's slender body and pulling her against him. He ran his hands tenderly through her curls, taking in the aroma of lavendar and popuri. He set his cheek against the side of her face and sighed, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"It's not your fault," Rose whispered into his chest. His arms tightened around her.

"I wish I could change the past year," Jack continued, "I wish we didn't have to go through it alone, separately. I wish I could take all your hurt away."

"You have," Rose tilted her head back, "just by being alive. I'm happy knowing you're breathing and still walking this earth," Her hand grazed his cheek, leaving a trail of fire along his skin, "The only thing that matters to me is that you're alive, Jack."

They held each other in silence for the next few moments, only the sound of the storm outside filling the room. Rose sighed, pressing her forehead into Jack's collarbone. She felt so at peace, but at the same time, unsettled, because she was unsure of what would happen next. After an extended silence, she shifted back to look at Jack.

"What time is it?"

Jack fumbled for the gold clock on his nightstand, knocking it over first. He held it above his head, staring at it for a moment, "Nearly seven."

"I should probably get home..." Rose rubbed her face and sat up, the cotton sheet drooping and exposing her breasts. Jack glanced fleetingly before nodding and putting his clock away, "I have work in the morning," She climbed over Jack and reached for her discarded dress on the floor. Jack propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Rose, watching her dress.

"Can I come for breakfast tomorrow?" Jack grinned boyishly.

Rose flipped her hair out from the back of her zipped dress and turned to him, "If you'd like," She grinned and sat down on a chair by the window, pulling her stockings up her legs, "Tim comes every morning for breakfast, though."

"Oh, so I can see him more clearly," Jack laid back down in bed, his arm dangling off the edge and grazing the floorboards, "How will you tell him?"

Rose looked out the window for a moment, watching the rain steadily fall from the sky. She heaved a sigh and sheepishly shrugged, looking towards Jack, whose eyes were trained up at the ceiling, awaiting her to speak, "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

Rose put her damp heels on and stood up, adjusting her dress. She reached for her peacoat that was laid across Jack's dresser. It was still wet and put a chill over her as she shrugged it on. She turned to Jack who now was sitting up on the edge of his bed, pulling his pants on. After he did his belt, he raked his hair from his face and looked to her, "You do want to be with me, right?"

Rose crossed to Jack, wrapping her arms around his bare torso. He shuddered at the feeling of her cold jacket against his skin, "What an absurd question," She shook her head, "Jack, I've dreamt of being with you ever since the _Titanic. _I want to be with you more than anything."

After a few moments, he smiled weakly, gently pecking her on the forehead and making her heart flutter, "Don't keep me waiting."

"I won't," She whispered, trying to reassure herself at the same time. They shared one more kiss before Rose left, descending the stairs, and leaving the studio.

...

_November 13th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The diner was not busy that morning. Rose was only one of two waitresses on the floor. She brought Tim a new coffee, who smiled and lowered his newspaper, "Good morning, Rose," He said after taking a sip. She smiled weakly, her heart pounding as she stared at him, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Rose nodded, smoothing her apron out, "I'm feeling much better recently, actually."

"Oh, good," Tim grinned, "It's the cold weather, I'm convinced. It rears an ugly head on all of our bodies. Say, where were you yesterday evening? I came by, but you weren't home."

"Oh," Rose's voice nearly faltered for a moment as she pensively licked her lips, "I... forgot to tell you. I, uh, joined a book club. We meet a lot of evenings to discuss chapters, drink wine. You know, unwind," She shrugged sheepishly.

"Good for you, Rose," Tim's face lit up at the idea and guilt plagued her insides, "You're meeting new people, huh? I'm happy to hear that. A book club is perfect for you. I'm sure you've read twice as many books as anyone there."

"Hah, maybe so..." Rose fidgeted with the sash of her apron, her body nearly trembling, "I really enjoy going. Sorry if it cuts into some of our time during the week. It's just important that I go."

"Well, how about we go out for lunch this weekend?" Tim suggested, "You can tell me all about it."

Just then, the bell of the front door rang, signifying a new guest. Rose glanced towards the door and froze in place. It was Jack, wearing a dark gray wool coat over a red button up. He looked to her before brushing past and seating himself in a booth facing Tim. Rose watched Jack for a moment before looking back to Tim, rather anxiously.

"Maybe we can," Rose nodded, "I think the book club was going to go to the Nickelodean to watch some flicks."

"I could always tag along, if that's okay," Tim said, "I've missed you."

Rose inhaled deeply, "I can ask. It's kind of a girl-thing."

Tim nodded and looked to his coffee for a moment, "Is there anything we need to talk about, Rose?"

A chill seeped into her bones and she nervously looked at Tim, "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just..." Tim took a deep breath and looked back to Rose, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "This time of year always seems to rattle you. I don't know if it's just because it's the holidays and you're reminded of your family, but... November doesn't seem to treat you right. I know this probably isn't the place to talk about it, but I just worry you feel like you have to face this all alone. But you don't," He reached out and gently gripped Rose's wrist. She could hear her blood coursing through her ears, knowing Jack was watching, "I'm here for you. I want you to know you can talk to me about anything. You can stop by my office or come by my house. I don't want you to think you have to bottle everything up inside."

"I-I know," Rose stuttered, "Thank you, Tim. Really, though, I'm okay. I think things are going to start getting better."

Tim smiled, "I think so, too. My mom is really excited to have you for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I think it will really brighten the spirit for you to be there, surrounded by people you love. I'm so happy you're going to be there."

"Yeah," Rose replied breathily, "It will be fun. I... I have to go serve this guest."

"Can I stop by this evening?" Tim asked just before Rose began to move.

"Book club, remember?"

He grinned crookedly and nodded, "Okay. I want a rain check."

She nodded before hurrying three tables down to Jack, who was patiently waiting and simply observing. Rose turned her back to Tim to speak with Jack, pulling her notepad from her apron, "Hi," She said quietly, "What can I get you?"

Jack grinned up at her, folding his hands together and resting them against his chin, "What book are we reading?" Rose gave him a look that sent him into a chuckle, "Can I just have some toast and orange juice?"

"Sure," Rose nodded, "I'll be right back."

Jack glanced over his shoulder and watched Rose disappear around the corner. He then turned his eyes on Tim, who had returned to his newspaper as he drank his coffee. Jack analyzed every detail of this man. He looked well put-together, from what Jack could tell. He remembered Rose saying he was a lawyer. He definitely looked the part. Jack watched the morning sun glint off the lens of his glasses as he read without realizing Jack was watching him. Jack ran his tongue over his teeth, scoffing under his breath. Rose had been invited to his family's holiday. How would she get out of that? Jack was sour to the idea of Rose continuing to see Tim. Part of him was jealous, part of him was sad, part of him angry. All he wanted was Rose. But it never seemed to go off without a hitch.

Rose reappeared at the table, setting his order down in front of him. She glanced towards Tim, then back at Jack, "Stop staring at him," She whispered, making sure her back was towards him, "I'm going to figure this out."

"How?" Jack whispered, looking to his toast, "Rose, you've been invited to his family's holiday. Do you really have the heart to break up with him during this time?"

"I'll think of something," She assured him, "Until then, we should play things safe."

"So, we're really just going to sneak around behind his back?" Jack lifted his blue eyes, "You wanna go down that road again?"

Rose analyzed his face for a few moments and heaved a sigh, "Things are different, Jack. He doesn't have a violent bone in his body. I'll let him down gently. He knows I have problems, you heard him."

"Something tells me he's not going to just let you go," Jack shook his head, his hand gripping his glass of orange juice, "I don't think you realize what kind of affect you have on people, Rose."

"I can take care of this," She insisted.

He pursed his lips for a moment, looking Tim's direction.

"Jack," Rose redirected his eyes towards her, "I don't want you to get involved in this."

"I am involved," Jack knitted his eyebrows together, "Rose, you can't be with both of us."

"I know that-"

"You have choices to make."

"I choose you," Rose whispered, shaking her head, "You know that. I'd choose you again and again."

He drank his orange juice pensively, his eyes returning to Tim, "Then prove it."

...

When Rose got off work, she went home and showered, taking the time to rejuvenate her curls and put her make up on. She opted to wear a dark purple silk dress with long form fitting sleeves. As she sat at her vanity, absorbed in her reflection, she thought about that morning at work. She knew Jack was anxious, so was she. She knew he was frustrated because she was too. But she had to make him understand these things took time and her heart wasn't in it with Tim. She was simply going through the motions until she could find her escape door.

Rose clipped some small pearl earrings on and sighed, lowering her eyes to her cluttered vanity. Jack had a point, though. The timing was awful. Tim had been so kind to her, treated her so well. How could she break his heart right before he had to face his family. She tapped her nail to the table, gnawing on her lip for a moment. She thought about the impending new year of 1914. Rose closed her eyes and tried to imagine a joyful year, one where she made many memories with Jack.

"We could start fresh..." She whispered to herself, looking back to her reflection. The evening sun glared over her shoulder from her bedroom window, "We could leave. Do something new. Be anyone we want to be..."

As Rose was on her way out, she grabbed a romance novel off her bookshelf, tucking it under her arm. She was worried Tim was poking around and she knew now she had to live in her lies. Rose flicked her lamp off and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. When she entered the front foyer, Cat and Liliana were at their mailbox, sorting through their mail.

"Hi, Rose!" Liliana grinned. Cat glanced to Rose but remained silence, focusing on her task, "Are you going to see Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?"

Rose grinned weakly, "No. I'm going to my book club."

"A book club!" Liliana echoed, "That sounds right up my alley."

Rose crossed to the front foyer doors, barely glancing Liliana's direction, "I'll tell them about you," She said, brushing out the door without another thought.

It was rather chilly that evening as she walked along the sidewalk by herself. Many of the trees were barren, their sharp naked limbs reaching over the sidewalk. There were few clouds in the orange sky as the sun began to set. The stars were beginning to break through. Rose tucked a curl behind her ear and glanced around herself as she walked, worried Tim could pop out from no where. Rose slightly hated what she became, but her entire world had been flipped upside down in a matter of three days. It resonated deeply in her, as this had occured in April of 1912 as well. Jack had an affect on her, and some moments she wondered what it was about him that evoked this from her.

She saw the studio approaching and her heart began to flutter. As she thought about Jack, the events of the day seemed to slide off her shoulders like a heavy coat. Rose knew they'd think of something. They always did. And she knew Jack always had a trick up his sleeve. Rose took a deep breath and pushed through the door. It slammed heavily behind her, echoing through the large space. She glanced around for a moment until she noticed Jack at the top of a ladder, sketching lightly on a canvas with a charcoal pencil.

When Jack looked towards the door, he had to do a double-take. Deftly, Jack grabbed the sides of the ladder and slid down, clunking onto his boots and approaching Rose, "Hey," He glanced towards the back room, "Frenchie and Iris are still here. Go up to my bedroom, I'll be there soon."

"They don't know about me?" Rose slightly smirked at the idea.

"Well, they think you're dead," Jack whispered, still looking around the room, "I don't have the words to explain anything to them right now."

"Jack!" Came a thick voice from the backroom.

Jack gripped Rose's arm, directing her towards a large canvas propped up against he wall, "Just stand behind this, please," He told her, helping her tuck herself against the wall, "I don't have time for their nosy nature."

Just as Rose had disappeared from sight, Frenchie appeared at the door of the backroom, looking rather flustered, "Where are the chisels? These buckets are atrociously dirty."

"Back wall," Jack turned towards Frenchie, his heart rate off the charts, "By the furnace."

"Thanks," Frenchie began to turn around and paused, "Did someone come in? I heard the door."

"No," Jack licked his lips, placing his hands on his hips, "I went outside to get some fresh air."

Frenchie nodded and disappeared from the door again. Jack leaned behind the canvas and gestured for Rose to come out from hiding. He then directed her towards the stairwell for his room. He gripped her elbow firmly as he guided her, then leaned down, pecking her on the forehead, "We're in the same boat," Jack told her as they came to stand at the base of the stairs, "The last boat where all the secrets have to come out."

"Hey, Jack!" Came a woman's voice now. Rose felt Jack tense at the sound.

"Go, go," Jack told her, "Watch your heels, the stairs are loud."

Rose kicked her heels off without a second thought, grabbing them, and darting up the stairwell. Iris appeared from the back room moments later, carrying pieces of wood. Rose made it to the top of the steep stairwell, her shoulders rising and falling. She paused, kneeling in the darkness, peering down towards the studio. She saw a girl wearing a green dress with black flats and long blonde hair approach Jack. She looked to be similar size and age to Rose.

"Do you think we could use these to make a small canvas for myself?" Iris asked, holding the wood up for Jack to inspect.

"You wanna paint?" Jack's voice distantly made it Rose's ears.

"I want to try," Iris' voice sounded as if she was grinning.

Jack took the wood into his arms. The noise of it clattering rang up the stairwell. Rose pressed her back flat to the wall and crouched lower, watching Jack set the wood on the communal table. Iris strolled up beside him, looking to the side of his face.

"Yeah, I can you one tomorrow. I still have some canvas left in the storage room."

"Oh, thank you, Jack!" Iris flung her arms around him. He gave her a friendly squeeze around the shoulders. Rose smirked, lowering her eyes to the stairs.

In a way, Jack was like her. He had people in his life that didn't know the whole truth. She felt comforted by the fact they were in this together. Rose liked the exhilerating feeling of knowing that it was her and Jack versus the world. She grinned, seating herself completely on the stairs now, confident the darkness was hiding her from the unsuspecting Iris and Frenchie. She pressed her head to the cool wood of the wall and listened to the three friends chat in the open space as they wound down from a long day of working.


	25. Secrets

Chapter Twenty-Five

_November 19th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Iris left her house shortly after the sun had gone to sleep. Iris had been struck with inspiration. Ever since she had gone out on that date with Jack, she stewed constantly over what he had told her. And every day, the words made more and more sense. Iris felt it was time to climb out of her comfort zone, do what she wants to do, and not worry about what anyone else thought. Jack's speech had inspired Iris to continue drawing flowers, but now, she was determined to create a background, a landscape, so she could be somewhat like her brother. She had an idea of dandelions beside a park bench, but upon sitting down to draw, she realized she had forgotten her charcoal pencils at the studio.

Iris waited until after dinner and until she was able to set the radio up for her mom, so she wouldn't miss the next episode of her show, before departing for the studio. It was a nippy night. Iris hunched her shoulders and dug her hands into her yellow peacoat as she began up the street. As she crossed the road, she hoped Jack wasn't asleep. She really wanted to see him, hang out with him, alone. Iris thought something was growing between the two of them. She had her hopes high that maybe she was finally getting somewhere with Jack. That she had been persistent enough that he felt like he could bring the walls down, once and for all.

As the studio grew into sight, Iris picked up her pace. Partly due to the weather, partly because she wanted her pencils, but also partly because she was anxious to see what Jack was up to. It wasn't late by his standards. She figured he was still awake doing something. Iris tried to push the door open, but realized it was locked. She fumbled for her keys and let herself in, quietly closing the door behind her. The studio was pitch black. Jack must have turned in for the night. Iris held in a disappointed sigh as she flicked the lights on and slowly, they began to buzz and glow dimly.

Iris went directly to the communal table where she had last seen her pencils. Sure enough, the box was sitting on top and she grabbed it, sighing that she finally had them again. She wasn't tired in the least and figured she'd stay up late in her room drawing. A thumping noise drew her attention away from her pencils, however. It sounded faint. Maybe the studio was shifting? Iris creeped towards the stairwell leading to Jack's room. She thought maybe Jack was making the noise. When she glanced up the staircase, she noticed the faintest candlelight was shimmering just under the crack in his door. And she could hear the noise more distinctly. Was he making art?

Iris looked around at the studio that was slowly growing more illuminated as the lights warmed up. She slid her shoes off to her stockings, wincing at the cold concrete floor. Then quietly, she began on the stairs, being sure to lay her foot flat, silently, as she took a step. She grew closer to Jack's room, but still, the noise wasn't quite distinguishable. Iris stopped just three short steps from the door, as suddenly a chill came over her. She felt her face flush as finally, she heard something she could distinguish.

The faint voice of a woman. Saying Jack's name over and over again. A rhythmic noise made Iris' cheeks heat up as she comprehended what the noise really was. Iris was nearly trembling, her eyes glued to the door as a breathy, "Jack!" made it to her ears again. Iris back pedaled hurrily, nearing falling down the stairs. Her foot thunked heavily and she bit her tongue, hoping they didn't hear, but still the rhymic noise continued without protest.

Iris had tears brimming her eyes as she clumsily stumbled into her shoes. She flicked the lights off in the studio and closed the door quietly behind her. She left without her charcoal pencils.

...

_November 20th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The next morning, Frenchie had to coax Iris to come to the studio. She had claimed she didn't feel like drawing, but Frenchie declared it absurd. Eventually her mother got involved, telling her she needed to go. Iris finally gave in. She walked beside Frenchie in silence, looking to the damp cement from the morning's rain. Frenchie glanced to his sister and heaved a sigh.

"What's wrong, Iris?"

"Nothing," Iris replied, almost too quickly.

"Don't say that," Frenchie gave her a look, "Something's eating you up, I can tell."

"Really, it's nothing," Iris told him, her insides twisting up. She felt like she had so much to say, but she couldn't bring herself to. A small piece of her was even too embarrassed.

When they made it to the studio, Jack was at the communal table pouring some pools of paint into his pallette so he could work on a requested painting for Frenchie. He lowered his cup of coffee, licking his lips, as he poured some green onto a section of the board. He glanced up when he saw the door open and smiled.

"Hey, good morning," Jack greeted them, "I was just gettin' ready to start Mrs. Greene's painting for you, Frenchie. I finished the base yesterday evening."

_Is that all you were doing yesterday evening? _Iris thought glumly, dawdling as she walked towards the communal table. She kept her eyes down as she set her portfolio beside her forgotten charcoal pencils. She hadn't gotten any drawings done last night. Instead she was curled up in the chair by her bedroom window absolutely lost in her mind.

"That's fantastic, thank you, Jack," Frenchie replied. He crossed to look at the painting, putting his hands on his hips, "That means I should get started on Mr. Nimmitz's painting this morning."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack said, returning to his coffee and pallette.

Frenchie clapped his hands together and went to the backroom to collect his supplies for the job and to put his painting smock on. Iris glanced to where he had left and then returned her eyes to her portfolio, which was open to a fresh blank page. She curiously peered to Jack beneath her bangs, but he was distracted with his task at hand, absent mindedly holding his coffee in one hand. Her eyes darted back down and she tapped her pencil to the paper, chewing on her lip.

Iris heard the clattering of Frenchie. He reappeared into the work space, hauling a few buckets at his side, filled with brushes, chisels, and a variety of stained pallettes. As Frenchie past his sister, he looked over her shoulder to see her idling with no marks on the page. He paused at the end of the table and she slowly lifted her eyes, already biting her tongue, willing in her mind for her brother to stay silent. _Stop bugging me, _she kept repeating in her mind, hoping the message was coming straight out of her pupils, piercing her brother's brain.

"Jack," Frenchie looked to his assistant. Jack arched his eyebrows and lifted his eyes, "something has been bugging Iris all morning. It seems to have chased away her inspiration. Talk to her, please? You're very wise."

Jack smirked and looked to Iris, "What's up, Iris?"

Her eyes fell over to Jack and he could tell she was waning and waxing between hurt and anger. Jack couldn't recall he'd ever seen Iris look so upset. He furrowed his brow now as he suspected something was going on. He set his coffee down and pressed his palm flat to the table, "Hey, are you alright?"

"Fine," She answered rather coldly, looking down at her hand fiddling with her pencil, "Really, guys, just stop," Iris looked between the two perplexed men.

"We can't make art in an angry environment," Frenchie shook his head, "You'll infect the art."

"You're the one who forced me to come," Iris looked straight at her brother, "I told you I was going to take the day."

"Well, if you're not feelin' it, maybe you should head out," Jack told her, "Go for a walk. Get some lunch. Visit the library or something."

"No," Frenchie looked to Jack, "I'm not sending her out there like this. She needs to talk to us, Jack!"

"Well," Jack shrugged, "then just say it. Get it out there."

"Jack," Iris sighed exasperatedly. He looked to her expectantly, "why didn't you tell us you were seeing somebody?"

A silence filled the studio. Jack straightened up now, his body coming down with a chill. Pensively, he licked his lips and looked between a rather stunned Frenchie and a pointedly direct Iris. Jack gripped the edge of the communal table before finally saying, "What are you talking about?"

"Playing dumb again," Iris scoffed, shaking her head, "You haven't been honest with us since the art show, Jack. You're withholding information. You said nothing happened, but something did."

"What happened, then?" Jack asked cooly, well aware of Frenchie's eyes on the side of his face.

"Last night," Iris took in a curt breath, "I came back to get my charcoal pencils because I had forgotten them. I... I _heard _things when I came in," Jack's heart rate began to spike in his chest, "I _heard _someone calling your name over and over again."

"Jack- is this true?" Frenchie was obviously floored.

Jack pursed his lips, running his tongue along his front teeth. He lowered his eyes, feeling as if he had been caught red-handed. He couldn't help but feel rather foolish, as if it was ludicrous he could have actively kept his personal life from these people who were apart of it just as much. Finally, Jack nodded, glancing to Frenchie, before looking to Iris silently. He knew her feelings were hurt. He knew she wanted justification of his actions. He knew she wanted to know why and who. But still, he said nothing, and only returned the gaze to Iris.

"Who is she?" Iris asked now.

Jack's eyes fluttered to the dirty communal table before he croaked, "It's... Rose," He looked to Iris, "You were right. You probably did see her that day at the cafe. Because I saw her at the art show."

A silence came between the trio. Jack nearly felt breathless as he looked to the communal table. His heart beat horrendously in his chest. Iris laid her pencils down now and sat up straight, her eyes locked on Jack. All those months ago, she had felt like a massive fool, and all along, she had been right. Iris closed her portfolio and began gathering her art supplies into her arms.

"Iris," Jack called after her, but she didn't pause or give a fleeting look over her shoulder. She continued for the door. Jack came around Frenchie, watching her go, "Iris!" His voice resounded off all the walls, but she slammed the door shut behind her. He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, sheepishly shifting the weight between his feet. Jack looked to Frenchie who seemed to be stewing in his mind, "Look- I had every intention of telling you guys, but it only just happened and-"

"How could you?" Frenchie asked, still not turning towards Jack, "You knew she liked you."

"Frenchie, what did I tell you all those months ago?" Jack felt a wave of heat wash over his body, "I told you I didn't want to break her heart."

"But you still did."

"I was honest the entire time!" Jack's voice rose unsteadily as he stared at the back of Frenchie, "That 'date' we had, I was upfront the entire time about my feelings! I just wanted someone to hang out with for once. I didn't lead her on, _she _set herself up for a big fall."

"She finally met someone she felt comfortable giving her heart to," Frenchie now turned to Jack, "And you shattered it."

Jack bit down on his tongue so hard, he began to taste copper. His nostrils flared for a moment before he turned away from Frenchie and began towards the door. He grabbed his coat, wrangling it over his shoulders hurriedly. He glanced once more towards Frenchie who was simply watching him go. Jack opened his mouth, but no words came out, so he promptly snapped it shut. He turned around and made sure to slam the door extra hard behind him.


	26. The Consultation

Chapter Twenty-Six

_November 20th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack walked towards downtown. He had his hands dug deep into his coat pockets, his face etched in a mix of anger and sorrow. How could Frenchie and Iris act this way towards him? They knew he had been trying to recover from losing her, he had been so guarded, so careful of his actions, or so he thought. They knew he had been endlessly pining after Rose. He had never attempted to keep that a secret. How could they be so unaccepting of him finally being reunited with her? Jack shook his head, grounding his teeth together. He and Iris didn't belong together, he knew it. Why was he the only one who saw that? Why did Frenchie's family have their hearts set upon the vagrant who lived in the attic? Jack sighed as around him, the buildings began to reach for the sky.

Jack paused and cocked his head up, looking towards the sky that had few clouds floating through it. It was a rather goregous day with only a slight nip in the air. Jack simply couldn't enjoy it, though. His mind was too preoccupied, but he was determined to clear it. He knew it was early enough in the morning that Rose was still waiting tables. He decided he needed to see her. His feet began automatically in the direction of the diner, his eyes darting everywhere, trying to keep his thoughts away from the large blow-out he just had with his friends.

He passed by a park and glanced fleetingly over the rocky wall to see a few mother's and children occupying the space. Their squeals of delight faintly made it to his ears. Jack swiped some hair from his eyes and kept walking, crossing the street. He paused on a street corner and looked around for a moment, deciding which way could be the fastest. But something familiar caught his eye. Slowly, Jack approached a directory posted on the outside of a tall gray brick building. Jack fidgeted with his hands in his pockets as he saw the worlds, TIM CALVERT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, LEVEL 12 OFFICE 3. Jack squinted as he glanced up the towering building, the sunlight reflecting off the many windows.

Jack didn't quite know what he was doing as his muscles pushed him forward into the marble foyer of the building. A receptionist kindly greeted him. Jack looked towards the vaulted ceilings and then glanced to the ground level offices. The doors were propped open and he saw many people sat at typewriters and organizing shelves of information. Jack wandered towards the elevator.

"Good morning, sir," The attendant nodded towards him, "Which level did you need?"

"Uh," Jack tore his eyes away from a large plant, "Level twelve, please."

As the elevator climbed towards their destination, Jack rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't justify to himself why he was here. His heart thudded in his chest as the elevator slowed and the attendant pulled the gate back for him. Jack gave him a polite nod and stepped off, sheepishly looking both ways, up and down the hallways. He heard the elevator groan as it returned to the foyer. Jack was all alone in the deafeningly silent office corridor. A sign in front of him indicated Offices 1-5 were to the left. He scuffed his boots against the thick carpet for a moment before slowly beginning in the direction of Tim's office.

Jack gnawed on his lip for a moment before he raised his hand to the door and knocked. After a few moments, someone called for him to let himself in. Jack gripped the doorknob and took a deep breath, pushing it open. Jack paused, looking out the windows towards the city down below. Slowly, his eyes turned on Tim, who was sat at his desk behind a typewriter, several books laid out around him on his workspace. Tim adjusted his glasses and rose, smiling politely.

"Hello," Tim came around the desk, straightening his vest, "how can I help you?"

Jack didn't know what he was thinking. He cleared his throat and looked to Tim, though the very sight of him nearly scorned him, "Yes, I was wondering if you had time for a consultation."

"Oh, yes, of course," Tim nodded and closed the office door, gesturing towards a leather arm chair by his desk, "Go ahead and take a seat. Let me just grab my portfolio," Jack slowly seated himself in the leather chair, gripping the arms of it tightly. Tim opened a drawer in his desk and pulled a black leather portfolio out. He flipped it open to a blank page and reached for a fountain pen left forgotten in the binding of book. Tim came around his desk, leaning against it in a friendly manner in front of Jack. His professional smile never wavered as he placed the point of his pen to the blank sheet, "Well, I guess let's start with introductions," He laughed lightly, "My name is Tim Calvert."

"Jack..." Jack replied slowly, "Jack... Barnes..."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnes," Tim grinned as he scribbled the name across the front in perfect penmanship.

"You can just call me Jack," Jack told him, pressing his hand to his chin, "Can I call you Tim?"

"Yes, of course," Tim replied, looking up from his page, "I like to keep things casual between my clients and I. That way we can develop a trust. I want all my clients to trust me with handling their affairs. So, Jack, what can I do for you today?"

"I needed legal assistance in regards to... a marriage," Jack said slowly, calculating his words carefully, "Do you specialize in family law?"

"I've assisted in maybe a few dozen divorce and custody cases," Tim grinned.

"Great," Jack nodded, "That's what I need help in."

"Okay," Tim nodded, "You're interested in divorcing your wife?" Jack confirmed with a curt nod of his head, "Alright, what's her name?"

"It's, uh," Jack felt a devious feeling spreading in the pit of his stomach, "Rose."

"Rose?" Tim's head snapped up at the sound of her name, "Rose Barnes?"

"Yeah," Jack relaxed in his seat slightly, "you'd think a girl named after a delicate flower would be similar. But she's not. Word of advice: don't go after the girls with the names of plants."

Tim chuckled at this and grinned crookedly, "Funny you say that. My beloved is named Rose, too," Tim reached around a small garden plant on his desk and handed Jack a picture frame. Jack felt his blood turn to icy slush upon taking it into his hands. In the rather grainy photo, Tim and Rose were posed together on the porch of someone's quaint little house. They both had glasses of wine in their hands, Tim's arm snaked around her waist, holding her against his side. Jack's eyes followed the curly embroidery on the chest of Rose's dress, "You can't tell in the picture, but she has bright red hair to match her name."

"Lucky you," Jack licked his lips, glancing up from the picture that was searing his pupils, "How long have you two been together?"

"Oh, for the better part of the year," Tim shrugged as Jack handed the picture back to him. Tim looked to it nostagically for a moment, before setting it down, "Since April."

Jack smirked, "Yeah, my Rose was a sweetheart in the beginning, too. I married her within the first year of knowing her and boy, was that a mistake," Jack continued, shaking his head.

"So, how long have you and your wife been together?" Tim asked, holding his pen ready.

"About two years total now," Jack rubbed his chin for a moment, "We married in 1911."

"Any children?"

"Thank God, no," Jack shook his head. Tim smiled politely, "Trust me, Tim, when I say all girl's named Rose will do nothing but break your heart. When we first started seeing each other, everything was perfectly normal. She was sweet, smart, and could just about melt your heart with that smile of her's. Then slowly, she got odd about things... acted distant. I fooled myself into thinking maybe she was just playin' hard to get. She had more baggage than I was bargaining for. I made the mistake of thinking proposing to her would chase all her skeletons off."

Tim lowered his portfolio for a moment, pondering what Jack said. Jack pressed his fist to his mouth to conceal the smirk growing across his face. He realized he had hit the nail on the head with Tim and Rose's relationship. He felt slightly triumphant in the moment that maybe Rose could only trust him, no matter how hard Tim tried. Tim quickly regained his composure, however.

"Well," Tim's smile returned, "we can't generalize _all _women named Rose, can we?"

"Just be certain," Jack nodded his head towards the picture on the desk, "You seem like a good guy, a well-put together guy. Don't make the same mistake I did. Really think carefully about your life before you put a ring on it. You don't wanna be in the same mess as me, do you?"

"Thank you for the concern, Mr. Barnes," Tim laughed, lowering his pad, "I can tell you I think I've thought everything through."

"So... you're going to propose?" Jack asked.

"I plan to at her birthday in Feburary," Tim told him, "I already have the ring picked out."

Jack's entire body tensed, "Sure you wanna do that, Tim?"

"I think so, yes," Tim replied, "She's unlike anyone I've ever met before. Trust me, if you knew her, you would be smitten, too," He took a curt breath and placed his pen to the page before saying, "Okay, so let's talk logistics about this matter you'd like to bring to your wife's attention," Tim licked his lips, "Can you give me specific examples about where you and your wife most collide?"

Jack adjusted himself in his seat, feeling quite smug, "She's got secrets. I don't know what they are, but she disappears for afternoon's with lame excuses as to where she's been. Sometimes she just holes herself up in a room and doesn't answer the door."

"Has your wife ever been pregnant, Mr. Barnes?"

"No?"

"Was your decision to not have children unanimous?"

"Yeah, we couldn't afford 'em anyway," Jack shrugged, "Why?"

"It's a common issue amongst marriages," Tim replied as he scribbled on his pad, "Just trying to cover all the bases. Now, excuses as to where she's been? Examples?"

"Book club, number one most used excuse," Jack said, making Tim pause. Jack felt his heart skip a beat for a moment. Quickly, he faltered and said, "The woman doesn't even like to read."

In the next beat, Tim grinned, "That's too bad. Reading is wonderful."

Jack exhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring, as he sunk into the cushion of the chair. He chewed on his lip for a moment and his eyes darted to the patiently waiting Tim. He bobbed his knee absent-mindedly and pondered some words for a moment, "What do you think the secret about women is?"

"What do you mean?" Tim arched his eyebrows.

"What do you think is the way to a woman's heart?" Jack sat forward now, pressing his elbows to his knees, "What do you think will please her the most?"

Tim thought for a moment. The only sound was some distant honking and the clock in Tim's office ticking faithfully, "I just think it's all about respect. Understanding," Tim looked to Jack with his hazel eyes, "We live in a time where women just want rights. To be equal. As someone who only has sister's, I can empathize. It's important to nurture a smart woman."

Jack lowered his eyes to the carpet, stewing over his words. He hated to say, but he agreed in every way. Jack didn't want to think Tim was right or a smart man, but he did. It was clicking inside him that maybe that's why Rose had been attracted to him in the first place.

"I need to go see Rose," Jack lifted his eyes to Tim, "Can I come back some other time?"

"Yes, of course," Tim's grin was ear to ear. He gingerly laid his portfolio on his desk, "It's not often I get to hear those words, but it sure does make being a lawyer worth it when you can see someone wanting to work it out outside of the court system."

Jack came to his feet, rather flustered. A suffocating feeling was drawing in on him every moment he stood in Tim's office. Jack nodded stiffly to Tim, "Sorry for wasting your time."

"It's never a waste," Tim stood up straight and held his hand out to him, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jack. I hope everything turns out well with your Rose."

"Same to you," Jack breathed, weakly gripping his hand. He left without another word, opting for the stairwell.

...

Jack found himself continuing in the direction of Rose's apartment. He lit a cigarette while he walked, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to be sure Tim didn't have the same idea. Rose had told him he would drop by only at the thought of her. Jack shook his head, frustrated.

Jack hated to finally admit it, but Tim was a genuinely good guy. He meant no ill-will. He certainly was not Cal Hockley. But, Jack still thought Rose was the only one for him. Knowing she was alive, them accidentally crossing paths, spoke to Jack on an astrological level. He thought he and Rose were really meant to be together. After all their trials and tribulations, how could they not have each other in the end? They had overcome so much, he felt they were so truly bonded, that surely, Rose couldn't be having doubts. A chill came over him at the question of second-thought.

_No, _Jack thought as he exhaled a plume of smoke from his lips, _she's not having second thoughts. If she was, she wouldn't have even entertained the affair-ordeal. She wants to be with me. I'm certain. Neither Tim nor Iris could ever change that, _His mood soured even worse at the thought of Iris. He scoffed, placing his cigarette in his mouth, _Iris, I'm so mad at you, I could scream. I thought we had an understanding. I told you not to dip your heart in the water. You only made yourself shark bait._

Jack stopped in front of Rose's apartment complex. He finished his cigarette, tossing it to ground and stomping his boot over it. He sighed and began up the steps and through to the foyer. He paused once more to throw a glance at the pedestrians on the street before he continued to first door on the right. He gave a few curt raps, but heard no shifting on the other side of the door. Jack glanced down the dim hall towards the foyer, examining the light pouring through. It was quite possible she was still not home from work yet.

Jack sighed. He pressed his back to the wall and slid down, bending his knees to his chest. He rest his arms on top and sighed again, settling into his spot for the time being. Jack was convinced the entire day was his most unlucky yet. Everything had gone wrong and he was wound up, angry, frustrated. And he'd let that frustration come straight out of his body. Rose was not going to be pleased he saw Tim, but he had to, he told himself that.

"Hi!" Came a high pitched voice. Jack perked up, his head snapping to the right to see a rather young girl with blonde hair coming down the hallway. She was lugging a watering can at her side. It was so full, she was nearly off balance. She was wearing a dark blue long sleeve dress with black lace hems and a matching blue headband, "Are you moving in?"

"Oh, no," Jack cleared his throat, his face turning red, "I was just waitin' for a friend."

The girl glanced to the door and smiled giddily, "For Rose?" Jack only nodded. She set the watering can down, "You're just friends?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded, folding his legs to sit criss-cross. His hands fidgeted, "I've known her for a while. Old family friend, y'know?"

"Oh, you must be from Wisconsin, right?" Her eyes lit up, "She said she visited family there last year."

"Yup, I'm from Wisconsin," Jack replied, "My train just got in. I must've beaten her home," Jack hoped the girl wasn't attentive enough to notice he had absolutely no luggage with him, but the thought never seemed to cross her mind.

"Well, my name is Liliana," The girl lunged towards Jack, holding her hand out. He was startled by her sudden movement and accidentally bonked his head against the wall. He swallowed roughly and shook her small noodle-like hand, "Rose and I are _really _good friends."

"That's nice," Jack smiled crookedly, "She's a good girl."

"So, how long have you two known each other for?" Liliana sat daintly on her knees in front of Jack, splaying her skirt in a circle around her, "Oh my gosh," She gasped sharply, "Are you two childhood sweethearts?"

Jack brought his knees back to his chest, smirking at the question, "Our families were close."

"So surely that meant they wanted you two to get married, right?" Liliana was so perky and her mouth was going nearly a mile a minute, "But Rose is such a strong, independent lady that she said 'no way!' and ditched it to New York, huh? But you, the ever so kind gentleman, never held it against her and still hold a cordial relationship. Is that it, huh?"

Jack couldn't help but laugh. It sounded straight out of an over-glorified romance novel. Jack's shoulders bounced against the wall as he looked to ever-eager Liliana, "Sure, something like that."

"Does that mean you're single?" Liliana leaned forward with a big grin.

"Well, uh," Jack's voice cracked slightly, "Not necessarily."

"How long will you be in the city for?" Liliana's smile never wavered, "Have you ever been to The Big Apple before? I can't imagine the shell-shock from rural Wisconsin to urban New York City! You know, I would love to be your guide. Oh, you never even told me your name. A good tour guide always knows her tourists names!"

"Jack," He told her.

"Jack," She echoed and then giggled, "That's a great name."

"Thanks," He laughed, "My parents gave it to me."

Just then, the foyer door swung open and Rose came in with a bag of groceries balanced on her hips. As she came to the mouth of the hallway, she paused at the scene before her, her heart nearly thudding to a stop. She knitted her eyebrows together.

"Rose!" Liliana hopped to her feet, "Your friend Jack is so nice! I wish you'd invite him down from Wisconsin more often! We should take him sight-seeing!"

Rose's grip loosened slightly on her bag of groceries. She did her best to smile between the two of them before breathily saying, "Jack! I'm surprised your train got here in the time it did. You probably want to wash up, right? Come on, let's go inside. You can tell me all about the journey."

"Oh, I want to hear the stories, too!" Liliana grinned, watching as Rose fished her keys from her pocket.

"Jack's probably tired," Rose said, glancing over her shoulder, "Maybe another time, Liliana?"

"What about sight-seeing tomorrow?" Liliana asked, clasping her hands together, "He should see the Statue of Liberty!"

"We'll let you know," Rose told her, swinging her apartment door open. Quickly, she ushered Jack inside, fully aware of Liliana's eyelash batting in his direction, "Good night, Liliana," Rose said, before swinging the door shut without waiting for an answer.


	27. Targets

Chapter Twenty-Seven

_November 20th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose set the groceries on the counter and sighed, smirking at Jack. He was still standing by the door, his hands in his pockets. He hadn't been to her apartment since the art show. He hated even thinking about that night. When he noticed her facial expression, however, he cocked his head slightly to the side.

"What?" He said, nodding at her.

"She is just absurd," Rose chuckled, shaking her head as she began pulling butter and eggs out of the bag, "Guess how old she is."

"I dunno," Jack shrugged, wandering towards the breakfast bar, "Fourteen?"

"Close," Rose wagged her finger at him as she opened the ice box, "Sixteen."

"Sixteen?!" Jack arched his eyebrows. He set his elbows on the bar and glanced towards the door for a moment, "Christ, she's only two years younger than you."

"I know."

"She asked if I was single," Jack deadpanned, giving her a look that had her laughing again.

"She told me once," Rose said over her shoulder as she put a package of meat in the ice box, "that her dream man had blue eyes and blond hair."

"Oh, lucky me," Jack pat his jacket and pulled his cigarettes out, "Can I?"

Rose peered over her shoulder, tucking a loose curl from her bun behind her ear, "Oh, yeah," She nodded, "Just open the windows, please."

Jack did as he was told. He then leaned against the wall, one arm tucked behind his back, as he smoked his cigarette, doing his best to have the smoke drift away from her furniture. He glanced to the grandfather's clock and then across the room to her writing desk, messy as usual. Her waitress apron had been left to dangle carelessly over the back of her leather chair. Jack looked to the kitchen, seeing Rose's head bob just above the counters as she organized the cupboards. He then noticed a pack of Fatima's sitting on the breakfast bar. He smirked, lowering his eyes to his same preferred cigarette tucked between his thumb and index finger.

"So, how was your day?" Rose called, standing up and whipping more hair from her face. She continued taking out the last few things from the grocery bag, folding it up afterwards. Her green eyes looked to him as he took his time with a drag of his cigarette.

"Pretty shitty, actually," He replied, tapping his ash carefully out of the window.

"Why's that?" Rose grabbed herself a cigarette from her pack, coming to stand beside him at the window. Her green eyes never left his as she lit her cigarette, holding it between her lips for a moment, "Did something happen?"

"Well," Jack hunched his shoulders as he heaved a sigh, "Iris and Frenchie know about you," He smirked weakly, looking to his cherried cigarette, "They're not very happy with me."

"What?" Rose knit her eyebrows together, "Why wouldn't they be happy?"

"Apparently Irene, that's their mom... she wants me to be with Iris," Jack shrugged, nearly rolling his eyes, "No one really asked me about the matter, just assumed it would happen, and now I guess they're all mad at me 'cause I hurt her feelings. But I mean," Jack sighed, raking his hands through his hair, "I never once even attempted to be romantic with her."

"How did they even find out?" Rose cocked her head to the side.

Jack glanced to Rose's waitress uniform before finally willing himself to look at her eyes, "Iris came back last night for some pencils. And... she heard you. Saying my name."

Rose's face became as red as a tomato, "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. That's... oh, that's so embarassing," She touched her hot cheek at the thought.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Jack lowered his cigarette from his mouth, "That's _my _room. If I want to hear my girl say my name, I should be allowed to."

Her heart fluttered at the thought of being 'his girl'. Still, she shook her head, "That's still extremely embarrassing..."

"Well, I'm not embarrassed," Jack grinned towards Rose and coyly, she returned it.

They stood in silence for a few moments, side by side, ribbons of smoke trailing between them. Rose relished in the security and pleasure she got just from having Jack in the room with her. His presence exuded a serenity she had longed for. Rose perked up suddenly, catching Jack's attention.

"Oh, I have something for you," Rose told him, crossing back to the kitchen, uncaring of her cigarette trailing beside her. She pulled a drawer open and began rummaging through, "I've been meaning to give you one. I knew we couldn't always be at the studio, and now it's become even truer," She glanced to Jack as she continued sifting through the contents of the drawer, "And so something like _that _never happens again," She jabbed her head in the direction of the door. Finally she pulled something out and closed the drawer, crossing back to Jack while extending a small brass key to him, "The spare for my apartment. You can come and go as you please."

Jack stared at it for a moment before finally taking it into his hands, "I won't abuse it," He smirked, reaching for his own set of keys, mostly to different parts of the studio and Frenchie's house. He hooked Rose's key securely on, his lingering on it.

"I don't care if you do," Rose shrugged and pressed her shoulders to the wall beside Jack. She took a drag of her cigarette and looked up to him, "Your living space is intruded on by a business. I can't imagine you get much quiet time. If you ever need a quiet place to decompress, be my guest," She gestured around the space, "You can paint, but only on my kitchen tile," Rose shot him a look and he grinned crookedly, "I have plenty of books to share. Help yourself to anything in the ice box. Really, you can just come here."

"Are you testin' me to see if I'd be a good roommate?" He teased.

"It's a..." Rose twirled her finger in a second while she pondered her vocabulary, "precursor."

"Precursor," Jack echoed, "So, when are you gonna do it?"

"Probably after Thanksgiving," Rose replied, tapping more ash out the window. She glanced fleetingly towards the street, but not many people were out despite it being a mild and beautiful day.

"Does Tim have a key?" Jack's question drew Rose's eyes away from the street and she looked to him, masking any incredulous feelings that may have been present.

"No," She said softly, "of course not."

Jack lowered his eyes for a moment and cleared his throat, "There's something else that happened today that I think I need to tell you," Rose arched her eyebrows, taking a final drag before flicking her cigarette out the window. Jack sighed, "I told you it was a pretty bad day. After the fight with Iris and Frenchie, I was really mad," Jack slowly turned his eyes towards Rose, "Honest to God, I was on my way to the diner to see you. Figured it would have calmed me down, had a nice breakfast, whatever," Jack shook his head, obviously flustered, "Anyway, I was walkin' there and I passed a building with something that caught my eye. It was Tim's law office," Slowly, Rose's eyes began to widen and she hugged herself at her elbows, "I was already frustrated and really down on myself, and I know it was stupid, and I'm sorry," Jack threw his cigarette out the window, "But I went to his office," He held his arms out at his side, "And I pretended like I needed legal advice."

"_Why _would you do that?" Rose was incredulous now, "Jack, he's not supposed to see your face. He could recognize you anywhere now. What were you thinking?"

"That's the thing; I wasn't," Jack told her, shaking his head.

"Well, what did you say to him?" Rose asked.

"I pretended like I was gettin' a divorce-"

"Does he know your name?"

"I told him it was Jack Barnes."

Rose stared at him for a moment, her eyes darting between his, "And what legal recourse did Tim suggest for you?"

"Well, he just kept asking questions about the woman involved," Jack replied, digging his hands into his coat pockets and shifting the weight between his feet, "And so I asked him what he thought the key to a woman's heart was. He said nurturing an intelligent one," Jack shook his head and ran his tongue along the ridge of his teeth, "And that's when I understood why you liked him. That's when I realized he really was a good guy. And I felt even shittier about myself."

"Jack, why did you go there?" Rose asked.

"'Cause I wanted to know what I had on this guy," Jack said, looking directly at her, "He's rich, he's composed, he's established. I got nothin' on him. So why me, Rose?"

"There's more to a relationship than just money and stability," Rose replied, "Didn't we learn that the first time around?"

"Yeah, but the difference is he cares about you," Jack gestured towards her, fleetingly recalling Tim's words about proposal. He decided to withhold it. He couldn't even bring himself to say it. He bit his tongue for a moment before shaking his head, "He loves you, Rose."

"But I love _you_," Rose insisted, "I've never even told him that."

"But why?" Jack asked, "He hits all the targets. What do I have on a guy like that?"

"I'll show you," Rose told him, gripping his coat, "Now just shut up and kiss me."

Rose's lips lunged forward, claiming Jack's in the next instant. For a moment, he was nearly stunned. But he gave into it without a second thought. The entirety of the heavy day melted away from him as his lips endlessly reached for her's. It was as if her lips held a special medicine, one that made him feel so incredibly high he was certain it had to be illegal. Slowly, his hands came up, gripping her slender arms beneath his calloused palms. Rose forced his jacket over his shoulders and it crumpled to the ground. She then grabbed his suspenders and began guiding him after her, towards the bedroom, their lips still searching for each other.

They stumbled through the bedroom door and Jack immediately reached for her zipper. She giggled as he tugged at the waitress uniform, pulling it down her body. She took the time to unclip his suspenders, untucking his button up. He lowered her onto the bed, tossing her dress on the floor. He ran his hands up her smooth skin and lowered himself on top of her, kissing her deeply while gripping her jaw. His other hand came to rest on her breast and a fire welled up inside of Rose. She fumbled with his shirt buttons as he dipped down, pecking at her neck.

Rose began yanking his dress shirt off and he smirked at her forcefulness. He then discarded his white undershirt. Rose grabbed hold his belt, pulling his closer to her. Their lips met again as he heard the clattering metal of his buckle. She was anxious for it, he could tell. She made it through his belt and zipper, reaching into his pants, guiding him closer to her.

"No warm up?" He breathily joked, grazing his cheek against her. She shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath along her ear. She didn't even reply, she simply wrapped her legs around his hips. A moan escaped her lips in the next moment. Jack smirked, pressing his forehead against her's, the headboard faintly knocking up against the wall. He relished in the noises escaping from her. Jack hovered just above her lips and whispered, "Say my name."

"Jack..."

"Louder."

"Jack!"

A tingly sensation began to invade Jack's body as they continued. Her nails dug into his bare skin and she called his name again, and once more, making his entire body radiate with heat. The only thing that mattered to him in the entirety of the universe was there, beneath his hands. She was his everything. Jack knew he could let anything, or anyone, come between him and her. He wouldn't allow it. They had fought for so much in the past, he bargained, that this wasn't even close to the same immensity of the battle before.

As he finished, Jack returned to Rose's lips. Her moans ran against his mouth. His hand clenched the pillow tightly beneath his hand, his entire body locking up and washing between extreme pleasure and heat. He pressed his sweaty forehead to her collarbone for a moment. She ran her slender fingers through his layered hair. Slowly, he untangled himself and laid beside her, pressing his face into her sea of curls and tenderly resting his hand on her stomach.

"Do you see now?" She whispered, turning her head towards him.

"See what?" He lifted his eyes.

"That there's more to a relationship than money and stability."

Jack slowly lifted his head, "Are you telling me Tim is bad in bed?"

"I only had to do it once to find out," Rose smiled surprisingly and this sent Jack into a wave of chuckles. He fell back against Rose, pulling her closer to him. She turned her head towards him, her curls running along his cheek, "You hit all the targets, Jack."

He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and pressed his face into her neck, inhaling the scent of lavendar and popuri.


	28. Thanksgiving

Chapter Twenty-Eight

_November 27th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The train bucked back and forth as Rose watched the familiar sight of the dipping skyline as she and Tim travelled north, towards Tarrytown. The trees began to grow more abundant, some towering as high as a skyscraper itself. Tim sat beside her, holding a bottle of champagne between his legs. He had told Rose it was tradition to drink before the Thanksgiving Feast in his household. Rose fidgeted with the cuff of her peacoat as the train jostled her in her seat.

"How was your week?" Tim asked, adjusting his glasses and glancing towards her.

"Pretty busy," Rose replied, looking towards the window, "Between the holiday season at work and actually making friends," She grinned and looked to Tim, "You make it look so easy."

Tim chuckled at this, "Truth be told, it's pretty tiring."

"Well, you never show signs of fatigue," Rose told him.

"It all pays off in the end," Tim shrugged, "Actually, something happened this week that made it all worth it. I had been meaning to tell you about the most interesting man that came to my office this week."

Hesitantly, Rose turned her eyes on Tim and arched her eyebrows, "Oh yeah?" She asked, almost shakily, "What happened?"

"Well, his name was Jack," Tim replied. Her heart leapt to her throat even though she already knew he was going to say that. She clenched the cuffs of her peacoat as he continued, "He was younger than me, that was easy to tell, but he really looked like he had lived through a whole lifetime, I don't know," Tim shrugged, "You looked at his eyes and you could tell it was a man down on his luck. Seemed humbled, yet bitter," Tim shook his head, "I'm getting muddled in the details. Anyway, he told me plain and simple he wanted a divorce. Not anything I haven't seen before. It was the same exasperated look and the tone of a man who was ready to throw the towel in. But the weird part is that his wife's name was Rose. Really caught me off guard," Tim chuckled. Rose was overcome with a chill, "He told me not to chase after women named after flowers. So, we chatted about it, why he wanted it, blah blah," Tim shrugged, "But then he asked me what I thought was the most important part to loving a woman. And when I answered him, he did something I don't get to see enough in the law world. He decided to end the consultation and said he would go talk to his Rose. He didn't come back all week, so I hope they figured something out."

"Wow," Rose said breathily, a wave of nausea coming over her. She trained her eyes down and forced a weak grin, "that sounds really rewarding."

"I just hope he gets the same feeling from his Rose, that I get from mine," Tim smirked and leaned in, gently pecking Rose on her clammy cheeks.

...

Jack was sitting on the communal table, his legs firmly planted on a stool in front of him. He was staring at the large canvas before him that he had begun that morning for Frenchie. It was a commissioned piece of a woman's four grandson's playing a game of marbles. They were dirty and dusty, carelessly laid out on a dirt road with a sloppily drawn circle between them. He had started with the sky. His eyes followed the few clouds that were beginning to take shape. He reached towards the plate sitting in his lap and raised a sandwich to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the painting. He was mesmerized by the light blue paint he was able to mix that morning. He had been so triumphant, his laughs echoing off the silent studio.

Jack took a drink of water and set his water back onto the table beside him, taking another bite out of his ham and cheese sandwich. He raked his hair from his eyes as he finally, he looked around the vacant studio. Jack reached for a potato crisp, chewing without bothering to close his mouth. Again, his eyes wandered around. He looked out the big bay windows, noticing it was quite a beautiful day. He was just thinking about taking his lunch to roof to relax when the studio door opened, groaning loudly through the space.

He looked over his shoulder see Iris walking in, wearing a long dark grey woolen coat. The sash dangled at her side as she let the door shut behind her. She paused when she saw Jack and said nothing. He set his plate down on the table and took a hurried drink of water, hoping to his feet and wiping his hands along his courdoroy pants.

"Iris, hey," Jack said, "I didn't expect to see you today since it's Thanksgiving."

Iris crossed to the communal table and leaned down, reaching for her art supplies in the table. She paused, her eyes hovering over his half-eaten plate. She then looked to Jack, "Is that what you're having for Thanksgiving?"

He smirked and snorted faintly, "I guess so. I have enough for another sandwich, too, if I'm feeling like indulging myself, that is."

"No, seriously," Iris straightened up, setting her portfolio on the table, "Do you not have plans for Thanksgiving?"

"No," Jack knitted his eyebrows together, "I never do."

"Where's Rose?"

"She's visitin' someone else. Why?"

Iris shrugged and recollected her supplies back into her arms. She took a few steps away from the table and looked to Jack, "I just figured, I dunno, that you'd spend Thanksgiving with her since she _is _your beloved."

Jack placed his hands on his hips, sensing the edge in her voice, "Iris, we need to talk. Now might not be a good time, but we need to exchange some words. I know there's probably somethin' you wanna tell me, anyway."

"Oh? What's that?" Iris turned towards him now.

"You know what I mean," Jack looked pointedly at her, "You should just say what you really think. That you're pissed off at me. That I'm an asshole. Something."

Iris shrugged rather uselessly this time, "What's the point? It will only make things worse."

"I want you to say what you really think," Jack came closer to her now. She gazed up at him. Jack could see all the hurt unfolding in her eyes, "You shouldn't have to keep it all in, Iris. Now tell me exactly what you want me to hear."

His gentle voice just about turned her skeleton into jelly. Iris sighed and lowered her supplies. She felt rather pitiful in that moment, feeling meek as she stood before Jack. She opened her mouth for a moment, but snapped it shut. Jack waited patiently, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"I won't say it," Iris shook her head.

"But why not?"

"Because it's not what you're going to want to hear."

"I can handle being told I'm a jerk and an asshole, Iris," Jack said, pressing his hand to his chest, "I obviously hurt your feelings and I more than anything want to give you the right to be mad at me, so we can figure this out. You're such a great friend to me, it would be wrong to just let that go."

"Okay, fine," Iris said rather sternly. She licked her lips for a moment, lowering her eyes. She shrugged again and heaved a heavy sigh, "Jack, I love you."

"Wait- what?" Jack's face instantly became confused.

"Yeah, not what you expected, right?" Iris said, looking at him, "Certainly not what you wanted to hear. But I can't help myself, Jack. In this past year I've known, I've developed these feelings I've never felt for someone before. Sure, I've had school yard crushes, but never have I felt the way I do before. Even if I'm hurt or jealous or angry or upset, it doesn't matter, because my feelings never changed for you, Jack. And... I can't say I'm surprised someone else has your heart. Who wouldn't want it?"

Jack sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck, lowering his eyes, "Well... that's even worse than me just being an asshole..."

"I told you; there was no point in you knowing," Iris said, now taking a few steps away from him.

"Iris, you're important to me," Jack looked up, stepping closer to her again.

"Not as important as Rose."

"What does that matter?" Jack asked quickly, "It's not a competition, Iris. If I care for you, there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe."

"So, you're telling me that if Rose and I were both dangling off the side of a cliff and you only had time to save one of us; you'd choose me?" Iris arched her eyebrows, "Because for some odd reason, Jack, I think you'd save her."

"Iris, that's ridiculous," Jack sighed, putting his hands on his hips again, "It would never come down to that, you know that."

Iris paused for a moment and licked her lips, "Are Frenchie and I going to lose you, Jack?"

"What? No," Jack shook his head, "I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not just going to book it for that horizon you two always talked about?" Iris waved her hand loosely at her side, "We're not going to come in one day and find your room empty? Some half-assed letter left on the communal table?"

"No," Jack shook his head again, "I would never do that to you two."

Iris nodded after a moment and scuffed her boots to the concrete floor. She took a breath and straightened her shoulders now, walking towards the door. Jack stood in place, simply watching as her thick blond brain bobbed against her back. She paused, however, and looked over her shoulder towards Jack, "You comin'?"

"Where?" He asked.

"To our house, of course," Iris replied, a small grin spreading across her lips, "For Thanksgiving."

After a moment, Jack finally smiled as well, some tension easing from his body, "Yeah, sure. I'll just grab my coat."

...

Rose and Tim stepped up to the familar porch. It creaked beneath each step as Tim rapped curtly on the screen door before pulling it open in the same brisk movement. As Rose stepped through the doorway, all of her senses were attacked. The house was decorated in many fun colored garlands. They dangled over the archways and were wound around the curtain rods. The house had a mix of smells. Faintly, the salty ocean air, but more prevalent was the smell of vegetable stew, baking bread, and turkey. When the screen door clattered behind the couple, there was shifting from the kitchen, and the radio, which was belting Christmas music already, was lowered in volume.

Eileen appeared in the kitchen archway. Her brown hair was free around her shoulders and she was wearing a red and brown plaid dress with matching heels. A dirty apron hung loosely around her neck. Upon seeing her son, her eyes lit up as normal and she lunged forward, making sure to envelope Rose into her arms as well.

"Timothy! So glad you're here! Great timing, too. I think your father needs help bringing wood in from the alleyway," She pinched his cheek maternally and then took the bottle of champagne from his hands, "And good, you bought the right brand this time," She stuck her tongue out at Tim.

"Hey, I did that _once _three years ago," Tim laughed warmly.

"Rose, honey, do you have arms of steel that could help mash a bowl of potatoes?" Eileen turned to her now, "The girls have all been taking turns this morning. Maybe you have the final touch to get the right consistency?"

"I'd love to help," Rose told her as Tim slid her jacket off her shoulders and hung it with his by the door.

"Aw, Mom, I'll do it," Tim said as he adjusted his vest, "You should all sit down and have a glass of champagne."

"I might as well work for my free meal, right?" Rose grinned.

"You are just sugar, dear," Eileen pinched her cheek this time, making Tim chuckle, "Go help your father, Timothy. He claims he can carry all of it himself, but I think that's begging for his back to blow out. I need him upright for dinner, do you hear me?"

"Yes, yes, I'm going," Tim said, already heading for the kitchen.

Eileen and Rose followed shortly behind. When she entered the kitchen, every counter was cluttered with a dish, a bowl, a utensil, or food. She couldn't believe the madness. The family was large, however, and there were a lot of people to feed. The twins, Lena and Penny, were wearing matching green short sleeve dresses. They were at the kitchen island stacking asparagus into a long glass dish. Kate was busy fishing asparagus out from boiling water and placing them on the island for the twins to continue the assembly line. Maggie had a dish of golden-glazed bread, which she was tenderly spreading butter across the top. She stuck some oven mitts on and danced between the carnage, ducking below Kate and putting the bread back into the oven. Diana was busy polishing silverware, holding them up towards the window. When the girls caught the flash of Rose's red curls, all their heads snapped her direction, and slowly, she watched a wave of smiles greet her.

"Hi, Rose!" Kate greeted, lifting her tongs from the pot, "Nice to see you."

"Rose is going to keep mashing the potatoes," Eileen announced with a smile, "But first; who would like a glass of champagne."

"Oh, thank goodness Tim did the one thing we asked of him," Maggie grinned, closing the oven door, "I'll pour it, Momma."

Rose reached for one of the many aprons dangling from the pantry door, pulling it around her neck and tying it off. She gazed distantly across the kitchen to see Tim and his father hauling logs of wood towards the burn pit in the center of the backyard. Dan was smiling as he looked to his son. They shared a laugh, knocking their shoulders together, as they went back to the alleyway for another haul. Rose held in a sigh and approached the bowl of mashed potatoes at the kitchen island.

"Hold on, Rose," Maggie caught her attention before she reached for the mashing utensil. Rose looked up to see her extending a flute glass out towards her, "We never complete the mashed potatoes without us finishin' off the bottle. It's tradition."

"Yeah, Momma never makes the glaze for the turkey right without a few glasses," Kate giggled, holding her own glass in her slender hands.

Eilieen gave her a look, "The champagne is just motivation."

"Sure," Kate laughed openly now.

All the women gathered at the cluttered kitchen island now, each with their own drink. Slowly, each Calvert girl looked to each other before Diana finally shrugged and said, "So... what do we toast to this year?"

"What did we toast to last year?" Lena asked, furrowing her brow.

"I think to Daddy's knee surgery going well," Penny replied and all the women nodded as they came to remember.

"Well, he's _not _havin' another one of those," Eileen said.

"Oh, I know," Kate said, eagerly, "Let's toast to our newest family member: Rose!"

"Oooh, I like that idea!" Maggie nodded and raised her glass. Rose immediately felt her face heating up, "Finally, a girl who can actually put up with our perfectionist and meticulant brother. You definitely have what it takes to be a Calvert, Rose."

"Here, here!" Eileen was so giddy to raise her glass. Rose was the only one not raising her glass. Her heart was thudding heavily in her chest as she looked to each set of hazel eyes of the sister's. Rose hated herself terribly in that moment. She wished she could have been any other person but herself as she stood in their bright and sunny kitchen. Rose felt a lump growing in her throat and she blinked rapidly to keep any tears at bay. The nauseating feeling had returned and it was resonating deeply within her.

"Thank you," Rose finally said, lifting her glass. She didn't mean it in the slightest.

...

Dusk had descended on New York City by the time Tim and Rose had returned by train. She felt as if she was walking so slowly, weighed down by the enormous meal she had just indulged in. Tim walked quietly beside her, a small grin present on his lips. It was chilly outside that night and their breath puffed before them as they walked through the silent pools of light on the sidewalk.

"I think today was really great," Tim told her, wiping his glasses free of any smudges, "My mom knocked it out of the park, as usual. I swear, I gain fifteen pounds during the holidays."

"Yes, I probably shouldn't have eaten that much," Rose said, keeping her eyes lowered.

They paused just outside of Rose's apartment complex. She gazed up at the building for a moment before becoming aware of Tim's eyes on her. She turned her head to meet those hazel eyes and she felt a shiver wrack on body.

"What?" Rose asked, gently touching her cheek, "Do I have dinner on my face still?"

Tim chuckled warmly, his shoulders bobbing up and down, "No, not at all. I just... I really think you're becoming a wonderful addition to my family, Rose. You've melded in so well. I know my sister's adore you. When I see you interact with them, it just reminds me of why I care for you so much."

Rose's entire body grew hot and her stomach tossled wildly inside her, "Well, they're all very nice," She replied, rather dumbly.

"I heard Maggie say you had what it takes to be a Calvert through the screen door earlier this afternoon," Tim said, "I don't think she could have been more right. I want you to be a Calvert one day, Rose," She said nothing and instead just stared at him, trying to keep her quaking body still from the eye, "One day soon, too," He leaned in, gently pressing his lips to her's. She did everything in her power to decently return the kiss, "Good night, Rose."

Rose watched him walk away for a few moments before she went inside. Upon stepping into the light of the foyer, she just about collapsed. Her heart rate was off the charts. She allowed a few tears to brim her eyes now and she cursed under her breath, _It shouldn't be this hard, _she shook her head, her curls rustling against her shoulders. Rose fished her keys from her pocket and let herself into the apartment, some lone tears coming down her cheeks. But she paused, however, upon realizing the candles in her living room were lit and the windows were open. Rose looked around, her shoulders rising and falling. Her eyes fell on Jack who was sitting on the window sil, his knees propped up to his chest. A cigarette dangled between his lips. Upon hearing her, he turned his mesmerizing blue eyes on her.

"Hey," He said, lowering the cigarette, "I brought brownies."


	29. Weihnachtsmarkt

Chapter Twenty-Nine

_December 4th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

When Rose woke up, there was a ray light coming across her face. She squinted against it and turned her head, nudging Jack who was sleeping up against her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. One of his arms was loosely dangling over her hip. His face was sunken into his pillow, his hair molded in all kinds of ridiculous ways. His shoulders rose and fell in rhythm, not even stirring at Rose's movement. Rose smiled weakly and laid back down facing the window.

She pulled the quilt to her chin and stared at the new day waiting for her just outside the window. She knew the time was nearing. She felt she had no time left to put it off. Rose knew it was time to break up with Tim. She questioned why it had even taken her so long, but deep down inside, Rose knew there was still a part of her that cared about him. She knew Tim would be a wonderful friend, but wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to talk to her again. Rose fidgeted with the quilt for a moment and held in a sigh. Tim had been nothing but good to Rose. The only thing he wasn't was her true love. But how could she make him really understand that? Did she even want those words to be the way she phrased him? Rose felt like it would be a low-blow.

There was stirring beside her and she felt Jack's arm slide off her side. She looked over her shoulder to see him rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. He blinked rapidly and twisted his head to look at her. Jack sank his hands behind his pillow and readjusted himself, "Hey," He said, his voice husky with sleep.

"Good morning," She whispered lightly. She turned herself on the bed to face him, holding the quilt against her as the apartment was rather chilly.

Jack grinned lop-sidedly, "Always wonderful waking up to your face."

Rose smiled, her cheeks growing warm, "Do you have to go paint today?"

"Yeah," He nodded, "we've got a few commissions lined up with Christmas deadlines. I better go help Frenchie. What about you? Not waiting tables today?"

"No, I have the whole day off," Rose scrunched her toes up against her quilt, "I keep thinking I had something I needed to get done," She furrowed her brow for a moment, "But I suppose if I can't remember, it wasn't important. I'll have to check the ice box," Rose shrugged now.

"Well, I can always pick anything you need up on the way back from the studio," Jack offered, but paused for a moment, "I mean, if it's okay I come back tonight."

"Yes, please come back," Rose nodded, "I like having you here."

He smiled and reached his hand out, lacing his fingers through her's, "Okay, I won't be late."

Rose scooted closer to Jack on the bed, tangling her legs through his and resting her head against his shoulder. She listened to his steady heartbeat, watching his chest rise and fall in time. Everything felt so aligned in that moment. Her body felt like it was perfectly balanced. His body heat radiated against her and she relished in it, burrowing her face against the crook of his neck, catching his familiar scent of sugary Coca-Cola and refreshing pine needles. He wrapped his arms around her body, running his hands along her silky skin. He sighed contently, pressing his cheek against her unkempt curls.

Slowly, he allowed his hands to explore her, as if he hadn't touched her dozens and dozens of times before. Rose relished in his touch as it left hot trails along her skin. She pressed herself flatter against him, running her slender index finger along his bare chest. He felt a chill come over him at the tender touch on her nails along his skin. Rose's hand slowly dipped beneath the blanket, her hands following the curves of his body.

Jack's entire body began to resonate with warmth as he felt her hand brush against his thighs. Goosebumps plagued his skin as he lifted his hand, running his thumb along her cheek. He grazed gently over her plump lips, stroking her rounded chin. He tangled his hands through her curls as a heat welled up in him beneath her quilt, where her hand moved at a steady pace. He gripped both sides of her face, finding himself entranced by her emerald green eyes. When he looked into them, it's as if he saw his entire future staring back at him.

"God, you're so beautiful," He whispered, bringing his face closer to her's. Jack continued to soak in the wonderful feeling he received just from touching her. He grazed over her ears, her eyes, her nose, her forehead, anything he could touch. Jack propped himself up on his elbow and slowly began to climb over Rose. She giggled, attaching herself to his strong biceps, squeezing the muscles. His entire sight was filled with nothing but Rose beneath him. He dipped down, pressing his lips to her, gently grabbing hold of her neck, making her tilt her head back to fully receive his hungry kisses. She pulsated beneath his strong grip.

Just as Jack finally placed his hips to her's, there was a curt rap on the front door. Rose immediately froze, grabbing hold of Jack's arms tightly. She gasped sharply, looking to Jack with wide eyes, "Jack, what time is it?" She asked, slightly raising her head from the pillow.

Jack squinted as he looked towards the gold alarm clock on her nightstand, "Nearly eleven, why?"

"I remember what I had to do today," Rose said, pressing her head back into the pillow and slapping her hand to her forehead, "Tim said he wanted to show me the Christmas Market."

"Wait- so that's Tim?!" Jack bolted up right onto his knees, looking towards the doorway.

Rose immediately rolled out of bed, reaching for her fluffy white robe that was dangling on the chair of her vanity. She pulled it on, tying the sash hurriedly as there was another knock at her door. Rose snagged Jack's pants off the ground and then his shirt, stuffing them into his hands.

"You have to hide for the time being," She told him as he clumsily staggered into his pants. He glanced to her as he began wrangling his shirt over his shoulders.

"Where?"

"The closet," Rose began ushering him, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," She threw the door open and gestured for him to jump in, "Just let yourself out of the apartment once we're gone. Wait for ten minutes so we can get off the block, okay?"

Jack stepped into the closet and turned to Rose, catching her wrist. Another knock at the door had her glancing towards the hallway, "Hey," He said, drawing her eyes towards him, "do you want pizza for dinner?"

She paused for a moment. The question almost seemed ridiculous in her frenzied state of mind. But a smile spread across her face, "Sure. That sounds good."

He returned the grin and pressed his hand to her cheek, giving her a deep kiss. Another rap at the door had Jack nodding towards Rose as he closed the closet door. Rose hurried through the living room. Upon seeing Jack's coat laid out across the couch, she cursed. Grabbing it, she raced back to her bedroom and opened the closet door, surprising Jack as she threw it at him and closed the door again. Rose went back to the living room, opening the door to see Tim, who seemed bright eyed and bushy tailed, as usual.

"Hey, sorry, were you asleep?" Tim asked, strolling in past her.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I overslept," Rose replied, closing the door and hugging herself.

"Do you feel alright?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. If you'll give me a few moments, I'll just get ready," Rose told him, gesturing towards her bedroom. He followed her down the hall and stopped in her doorway, leaning up against it. Rose seated herself at her vanity and began getting ready. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she lifted her hairbrush and began to gently comb through her curls.

"So, excited for the Christmas Market?" Tim asked with a grin as he watched her curls fall down her shoulders, "It's really wonderful. I find something for my mom and sister's there every year."

"Is it mostly handmade things?" Rose asked, looking at him in the reflection of the mirror. She was doing everything in her power to act casual.

"Yeah," Tim nodded, "a lot of local vendors. Seamstresses, carpenters, blacksmiths, you name it. Every trade, you'll find it. Even homemade bars of soap and pastries," Tim glanced to his sterling silver wrist watch, "I figured maybe we could stop and eat lunch at that little garden cafe you like so much. It is on the way."

"Sure," Rose nodded, powdering her face. She stood and realized she had to get dressed and almost looked to the closet in fright. She glanced towards Tim who was standing on the other side of the door. She inhaled silently as she willed herself to cross the room. Tim had distracted himself by pulling a small agenda out from the inside of his coat, glancing at what he had written for the day. Rose threw the closet door open and was nearly stunned into place upon seeing Jack holding a dress and shoes out to her. He had chosen a blue velvet dress with light blue silk trimming and matching blue shoes to go with it. Rose immediately grabbed the garments and kicked the door shut behind her, laying them across his bed.

"I love that dress," Tim said, lowering his agenda and grinning, "It's such a good color on you."

From the inside of the closet, Jack smirked and lowered his eyes.

"Thank you," Rose replied, without even glancing over her shoulder.

"I'll give you some privacy while you change," Tim said and closed the door behind him. She listened to his footsteps fade away down the hall. Rose let out a large sigh as she undid the sash of her robe and began unzipping her dress. She stepped into it and paused, returning to the closet door to see Jack holding a wad of stockings out to her.

"How'd you know?" Rose grinned.

"Realized after I gave you the clothes," Jack said with a lop-sided grin.

"Thank you," Rose said warmly, "And I'm sorry."

"Do you think this is your chance?" Jack asked. Rose seated herself on the edge of the bed and began rolling up a leg of her nude stockings. Jack remained in the closet, leaned against the wall between a parting in her dresses. His shirt was still left unbuttoned and wrinkled on his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Maybe," Rose said, glancing up from smoothing the stocking, "I think I have a plan."

Rose wriggled her heels on and stood up, fluffing her dress. Jack smiled.

"You look nice."

Rose crossed to him, giving him a tender kiss, "I'll see you later."

"Hey- get me a bar of soap," Jack said, "Surprise me with the scent."

Rose gave him a goofy grin, "Okay, I will," And with that, she closed the closet door.

...

The Christmas Market took up two entire street blocks. The roads were closed off and the curbs were lined with many different vendors. The market was bustling with dozen of people. The mood seemed fitting as it was an overcast day that had ocassionally been sprinkling a bit of snowflakes from the sky. Rose's breath puffed out before her as she walked beside Tim, her hands dug into the pockets of her peacoat.

"So, who do you have to shop for this year?" Tim asked, glancing to her. A few snowflakes had been caught in his hair and were a stark contrast to his brown wavy locks.

"My boss, Winston," Rose shrugged, "A few waitresses. Maybe... something for the book club."

"Sounds like you have a full plate like me," Tim chuckled, "I love the Christmas season, though. There's nothing better than being able to give back."

"I think you do plenty of that during the year," Rose said, glancing to a flower stand with several bountiful and elaborate bouquets on display.

"I don't feel like I do nearly enough for my sisters and parents," Tim shook his head, "I don't visit as much as I'd like to. Coming to the city is hard on my mom and dad. It can't just be a day trip for them and I really don't get a break from work most of the time," Tim shrugged, "This is my chance to really show my gratitude at the end of the year for supporting me, yet again."

Rose felt a stinging sensation just beneath her skin. She looked forward, a snowflake getting caught in her eyelash. She stopped, however, when she saw a soap vendor. Rose paused, looking at the sign, then glanced to Tim, "I wanted to get soap for my book club. The women always talk about what a true luxury a scented one is. And I feel bad, because I've always used one."

Tim grinned, "How many women?"

"Seven."

"Wow, so there's eight of you? That sounds like a really fun and rowdy book club," Tim laughed at the thought, "It sounds really good for you, Rose."

"Yeah," She lowered her eyes for a moment, "it is really good for me."

"Well, hey, why don't I help you pay for them?" Tim offered, "They are a little pricey."

"No, no," Rose waved her hand dismissively, "I can do my Christmas shopping on my own."

"Oh, come on," Tim shook his head, "Let me help. I have more than enough."

Rose pulled her wallet out from her coat pocket and looked to him, "It doesn't matter to me how much money you have, Tim."

...

By mid-afternoon, the snow was beginning to fall a bit steadier, but still the Christmas Market continued on with tireless energy. Many people walked by with umbrellas now. Some vendors were condensed to smaller counter space as the snow began to cake the surfaces. Rose looked up into the sky, allowing some snowflakes to lay across her face. She had a few bags dangled over her arms as she and Tim were wrapping up their shopping. Tim had several bags, much more than Rose, gathered in his arms.

"Well, I certainly did not anticipate snow today," Tim said, some flakes stuck to his glasses.

"It's fitting," Rose smirked. He glanced to her to admire all the snow caught in her eyelashes and curls. It almost made her angelic. She felt his eyes in the next moment and looked to him.

"Did you like the Christmas Market?" He asked.

"Yes," Rose nodded, looking forward again, "I'm surprised I'd never heard of it."

"Well, you have to keep it a secret, too," Tim told her as they stepped onto the sidewalk leading out of the blocked off market space. Rose looked to him with arched eyebrows, "My family thinks I do lots of walking in between to get all these things. They have no idea I'm able to go to a market place and walk less than half a mile around the space to get everything."

"Oh, very devious," Rose snorted lightly.

"Hey, we all have our secrets, right?" Tim laughed.

Rose felt herself grow cold at the statement. She glanced the other way, willing herself to recompose her face. The tingling sensation had returned again and she felt the blood coursing through her ears, pulsating through her head like a hammer.

"Hey, do you want to stop for some coffee?" Tim asked, "I could really use some."

Rose pondered this a moment before nodding and looking towards him, "Sure, let's go."

...

Rose and Tim found themselves at a quaint cafe with black and white tiled floor and many circular garden tables spread throughout the large room with picture windows. Rose shook some snow from her curls as they came through the door, a brisk breeze following them. Tim told Rose to find a table while he got them coffee. She seated herself just beneath a window so she could watch the snowflakes dance outside amongst the wind.

It didn't take long for Tim to come to the table with two cups on saucers, filled to the brim with the premium coffee brand available in the cafe. Their bags sat gathered at their feet as they both made their coffee to taste with the available sugar and creamer at the table. Rose kept her eyes lowered as she stirred her coffee, daintily tapping her silver spoon to the lip.

"So, how are you?" Tim asked, lifting his eyes to her. She looked to him, blinking momentarily.

"I'm fine. What about you?"

"Same ol', same ol'," Tim replied, folding his hands together and resting them under his chin, "I've missed you. I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving. I want to spend more time with you, Rose."

"I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied," Rose said, fidgeting with the handle of her coffee cup, "I just..." She sighed and shook her head, lowering her eyes. Her heart was beating ferociously in her chest as she felt a barrage of words, nearly like vomit, rising up in her throat.

_Do you think this is your chance?_

When Rose looked to Tim, she had tears brimming her eyes and she knew she had startled him. Tim lowered his coffee, staring at her intently. Rose's breathing shallowed and she inhaled deeply in an attempt to resume her body on beat, but still, it quivered at her every movement.

"Rose?" Tim asked softly and the way he said her name seared her. He began to move his hand towards her but fell short, double guessing his action, "Rose? What's wrong?"

The tears continued to fall despite Rose's face of stone. She held eye contact with Tim even though he looked bleary in her vision. She licked her lips pensively, "I've just been thinking recently, Tim... Being with your family at Thanksgiving only had me thinking more that... I'm..." She took a breath, "I'm not right for you."

"What?" Tim seemed rather taken aback. He straightened his shoulders, "Why would you think that?"

"I'm not on your level. You're so established, you're comfortable, you're a people pleaser because you can be," Rose told him, her voice seemingly pinched, "I'm a nobody. I make pennies on the dollar. I'm so much of a wreck, I can't even get a standard schedule in place. I'm wasting your time, Tim. We both know it. I have a closet full of skeletons I have to live with and I think they've been telling me there's not room for another one."

"No, I don't agree," Tim shook his head.

"I do nothing but drag you down," Rose said, quietly, but firmly, "I make you wait around for me, you probably always wonder when I'll actually come around. You deserve somebody who can give their full-selves to this, Tim. I just don't think it's me."

Tim ran his hand along his jaw for a second, "I think we can talk this out, Rose. I think we can figure something out. I want this, more than you know. I love you, Rose. Nothing on earth can change what I think of you. How I _feel _about you."

"I think there's a few things," Rose nodded stiffly, lowering her eyes, "Tim, I just think you deserve better."

"Well, I think I have the best right here," Tim shot back, his eyebrows arched, "Rose, I want this. I want you. There's nothing I'm not willing to do for you."

"I can't give myself away fully, Tim," Rose replied, shaking her head, "These are things I have to sort out by myself. On my own."

"I want to help you-"

"Tim, you can't fix everything," Rose's wet eyes met his, "You're not super-human. There isn't a solution to everything. This is different. I'm telling you it is."

"I can't just lose you," Tim told her with an even voice, "You must think I'm crazy if you think I'll just let you walk away from this. I might not be able to fix it, but I can _help_, Rose. Just let me in. Please."

She pursed her lips and fidgeted with her fingers, "I have to do it alone, Tim," They were silent for a few moments before Rose sighed and looked to him. Tim seemed so lost inside his mind, tracing after his memories, "You shouldn't have to help, anyway. This isn't your problem. Who knows... maybe when I'm your age, I'll have it all figured out, too," She shrugged, rather helplessly, a few more tears falling down her flushed cheeks.

"I still want to see you," Tim said, "I still want you apart of my life."

"We won't be the same," Rose replied softly, breathily.

"Rose," Tim leaned in closer to the table now, his voice a husky whisper, "I'm not giving up on you. Whatever it is you're facing, we can face it together. Always better in pairs, right? I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm involved," Rose felt fresh tears spring to her eyes and she pressed her knuckles to her quivering lips, "I want to be with you. I want to help you. You deserve all the happiness in the world. I have every intention of marrying you."

Rose's face became pinched and she looked towards her cold coffee, watching her tears drip into it. She cried as silently as she was able to, careful to not draw attention in their direction. Tim was leaned forward on his elbows, an intense fire brewing in his hazel eyes.

"Rose... Rose," He reached out to her, his hand firmly gripping her wrist. She nearly flinched at the touch of his smooth hands, "Please, talk to me."

"I need time," Rose finally croaked lifting her eyes, "I just... I just need time. To think about everything that has happened."

"How long do you need?"

"I don't know," Rose furrowed her brow, almost desperately, "Tim, I don't want you waiting for me."

"I'm going to," Tim said firmly, gripping her wrist tighter, "I'll wait for you, Rose."

"Please, don't," Rose stood up and gathered her bags, trying to flick some tears from her eyes, "I'm not the one for you, Tim. Stop trying to fool yourself that this is normal."

And with that, he listened to her heels clatter across the tile as she burst back into the winter wonderland that New York City was becoming.


	30. The Truth

Chapter Thirty

_December 5th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

When Jack woke up, the sun was just showing through the window as dawn broke. It was a rather overcast day with snow caked along the panes of the window. He sat up and rubbed his eyes tenderly, letting out a wide yawn. He glanced towards Rose slumbering beside him. Her back was towards him, the morning light making her bare skin glow with an orange hue. By the rhythm of her breathing, he knew she was still asleep. And rightfully so, he thought.

Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his crumpled pants, hobbling into them silently, so as to not disturb Rose. As he laced up his belt and shrugged his dark purple button up on, he stared down at the angel in bed. She had come home an absolute disaster, so wound up, emotionally clogged. She hadn't wanted to talk much and Jack certainly didn't push anything. They sat in the same room in silence, relishing in the presence of the other. But when they had gone to bed, finally, as the moon sailed towards the center of the sky, she finally let her emotions out to him. In the most physical way she knew how.

Jack carelessly left his button up undone as he left the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He scrunched his toes up against the plush cream carpet as he opened the curtains and windows to let the cool morning air in. He stuck his head out the window momentarily, allowing the cool air to prick his skin. When Jack went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, he noticed the pizza box from the night before. He opened the box slowly to see it completely untouched. He sighed, pushing it to the corner of the counter.

As he fumbled about to make coffee, his mind drifted down the hall, to the slumbering woman. He shook his head, running his tongue along the front of his teeth, _She doesn't deserve to be so unhappy. Just, what can I do? What more? There has to be something... Feh, I thought moving on from the Titanic, moving on from her supposed death, was the hard part. It certainly was not, _Jack snorted lightly, flicking the machine on and leaving it to do its business. He meandered into the living room, his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced to her stacks of books on the coffee table and came to pause behind her writing desk, looking to the variety of texts laid out, strewn across the next. Jack gripped the back of her chair, _I understand her hurt. It's what we share. Tim has got to understand. Rose may have bought herself time, but what can I do to make Tim realize the break will never end? Make him know he will never hold her again. Never take her to another family gathering. Never kiss her._

Jack grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the bar and climbed onto the windowsill, uncaring of his dishevelled look so early in the morning. He inhaled deeply, folding a knee against his chest. He tilted his head back against the wood molding along the wall, allowing the coolness to seep against his neck. He glanced towards the low hanging gloomy clouds. They threatened to drop more snow on New York City in an instant. Jack pursed his lips, lowering his cigarette, _I just want her to be mine. Is that such a crime? Why does it feel like I have to pry her out someone else's hands to have her? For once, I just want the security that she can be mine. I love her. She loves me. This should be simple. It was for my parents. Why am I havin' so much trouble? _He scrunched his eyebrows together and put his cigarettes between his lips, _Does it seem like a far shot? Is that what the universe is tryin' to tell me? Yeah, well, I know she's too good for me. Nothin' like that has ever stopped me before. Just try to stop me now._

He tapped some ash out the window, watching as finally the early bird tradesmen began to rise and wander out onto the street as the day grew brighter. Jack glanced to his cigarette and then down the hall towards the closed bedroom door, _She's mine._

Jack looked around the brightening apartment and spied the manilla folder with his last name on the coffee table, shoehorned between two thick biographies. Holding his cigarette between his lips, he hopped down from the sill and slid the folder out, cradling it in his hands. He again looked towards the bedroom door. He then threw his cigarette out the window and sunk into a nearby recliner, opening the folder slowly. Jack was confronted with his birth certifcate. Carelessly, he strew it aside, and found his eyes locked on his parents, looking back at him. Jack lifted the picture, knitting his eyebrows together. He recalled their tender smiles in that moment, their warm voices. His eyes flickered to his own young self and he bit his lips, _What would they think of me now?_

He set the picture down and looked towards he next. His own mug shot. Jack had nearly forgotten about the entire ordeal. It had seemed like another lifetime ago. He smirked, looking at his sorry self, _Yeah... sounds 'bout right for Chippewa Falls... _Jack turned the page over to see death certificates. He lifted the two in them in separate hands, looking between his parents type-written name. _Official Time of Death: June 23rd, 1906, 2:31am._

Jack set the certificates down as they began to sear his palm. He then saw two black and white pictures beneath them with the seal of Wisconsin state in the corner. The remains of the family home. Reduced to nothing but some sooty seared boards, stuck upright in piles of ash. Jack gnawed on his lip as he stared at what was left. Jack hadn't been home that despite his mother's asking. They had to be at church the next morning and Jack had fallen asleep the last sermon due to hanging out with friends all night, drinking, smoking, roaming where they had no business. Jack had disobeyed his mother and chose to lay in an open field with some friends from the school yard, nursing and sharing a bottle of whiskey someone had swiped from their father's liquor cabinet. He remembered distinctly that he and his friends noticed the billowing smoke across the field. But in their minds, under the influence, they convinced each other it was simply a bon fire, which was not uncommon in rural Wisconsin. But boy, Jack thought, they were totally off-base.

He stumbled home in the morning, washed-up, exhausted, from his wild escapade with the wrong crowd from the school yard. He came onto the dirt road leading to his family's farm, coming through some weeds that were waist high on the young boy. When he stepped on the road, that's when his red eyes finally laid on the commotion along where his house should have been. The smoke had grayed as it still wafted away from the disaster. Jack set the pictures down and closed the folder, setting it on the coffee table. He bobbed his knee for a moment before he lunged for his cigarettes, dangling against the window, _No more of that. No more._

Just then, the coffee pot whistled, startling him. Jack took a few more puffs of his cigarette before he threw it out the window again, jogging towards the kitchen. He made two cups of coffee, rolling his sleeves up in the process. He found a small serving tray in a lower cabinet and quickly toasted some bread, spreading margarine across them. He then grabbed an apple, carrying it towards the bedroom on the tray. He gently pushed the door open to see her still in the same position she was when he left.

Jack closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed, setting the tray down beside him. He tenderly reached over, grazing his hands along her bare shoulder blades. Gently, his hands rubbed her shoulders and down her arm and slowly, she began to stir. His eyes momentarily glanced to the pile of soaps sitting on her vanity stand as she turned over, pressing the quilt to her bare chest. Rose blinked for a few moments, taking in a deep breath and glancing towards the tray Jack had on the bed. Jack smirked at her, so sleepy as the morning light bathed her.

"Jack," Her voice cracked slightly as she sat up on her elbows. After a moment, she grinned lightly, "How'd you know I wanted coffee?"

"I had a hunch," Jack replied softly, "Prop yourself up. Have my mediocre breakfast in bed," He laughed now as she sat up and Jack handed her a cup of coffee, "How'd you sleep?" He asked, pushing some of his tossled hair from his forehead.

"I always sleep well when you're next to me," She replied quietly before taking a sip of coffee.

"Rose," Jack looked up from his toast, "what happens now?"

Rose looked to the window for a moment and licked her lips, lowering her mug, "I feel like I only gave myself time. It was... a mess, to say in the least," Rose exhaled, almost frustratingly, "It's only days until he's knocking at my door again, Jack. I don't want to hurt him," She looked to him, her green eyes shimmering in the morning light pouring through the window, "I don't know what to do."

"You're going to have to tell the truth..." Jack lowered his eyes, "The truth might hurt him," Jack looked back to Rose, whose eyes were locked on him, "but so be it. Not everything can be great. He has to understand, Rose. He has to."

"It just seems... heartless," Rose sat up now, folding her legs criss-cross, uncaring of the drooping quilt exposing her nude body, "I don't want to destroy his entire self-worth."

"It's not heartless," Jack insisted, looking to her intently, "It's the truth."

"A truth can be heartless," Rose said.

"But at least it's the truth," Jack shrugged, "All the cards are on the table."

Rose closed her eyes for a moment, "I just want to be with you, Jack."

"We'll get our chance," Jack told her, "if we tell the truth."

...

_December 7th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

It was Frenchie and Iris' mother's birthday, so Jack knew they wouldn't be doing any painting that day. He left from the studio mid-morning after setting up his equipment so he could get a headstart that evening for Frenchie. Jack stepped out onto the street that was being layered in snow as it quietly fell from the sky in a steady wave. The street was practically desserted of any cars and carts. People walking along the paths were hurried to get out of the winter slush.

Jack walked at a leisurely pace, his hands dug deep into his woolen coat. The snowflakes caught into his layered hair and along his shoulders as he continued up the incline that would lead him out of the industrial section of the city. He glanced towards the sky, some snowflakes chilling his skin and leaving him wet. At a nearby park, he watched some children scramble about to put together a snowman. His face did not twitch, however. He walked with one goal in mind. His destination.

He fumbled to pull his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one as his shoes crunched into the street, which had not been cleaned by the street sweeper yet. He looked around, his breath puffing around him as he made it to the other side. Jack shifted his cigarette between his lips and paused to look at some artwork painted on the side of a tall brick building with an alleyway running along the side of it.

It featured someone's hands cupped together, outstretched towards the viewer. Their palms were full of dirt with a singular plant with two bright leaves perking out from the stem in the center. Jack's eyes slowly wandered towards the text beneath: THERE IS PROMISE IN LIFE.

Jack smirked, lowering his cigarette and exhaling slowly, _She's mine. _

He tossed his cigarette into a snow bank piled along the pathways. He scuffed his boots for a moment and began up the block, stopping at a familar building. He paused to stare at the directory, the snow drifting atop him. Eventually, Jack urged himself through the doors where he wiped his boots and nodded politely towards the receptionist before taking the elevator to the twelth level. As Jack walked down the quiet hallway, he unbuttoned his jacket and raked his hair backwards, not even bothering to knock, as he barged into Tim's office.

At first, the two men only stared at each other. Jack's eyes darted towards the wide picture windows, his eyes following some drifting snowflakes. Tim closed the book he was reading and stood, buttoning his blazer cordially.

"Mr. Barnes, hello," Tim said steadily. Jack's eyes pierced him, "You're back."

"I'm back..." Jack said weakly, nodding and glancing around the office fleetingly.

"Would you like to take a seat?" Tim asked, gesturing towards the chairs. After a moment of hesitation, Jack closed the office door and crossed, seating himself against the stiff leather chair. Jack was rather stiff and he attempted to readjusted himself, shifting his jacket on his shoulder, "How can I help you, Mr. Barnes?" Tim asked, lowering himself back in his seat behind his massive walnut desk. Jack looked to him with a gleam in his eyes, "Are you... wanting to pick up where we left off?"

"There's no fixing this, Tim," Jack said, breathily, gripping the arms of the chair.

Tim swallowed roughly and reached for his steno-page, thumbing through the notes he had taken from the last session, "Would you like to tell me what's happened since we've last seen each other, Jack?" He asked, still holding his voice strong and even. It was enough to drive Jack nuts.

"I tried to work it out, Tim," Jack shook his head, propping his ankle up on his knee, "She wasn't givin' me an easy time, though. What bugs me the most is she won't talk about things. She is just... so vague," Jack tapped his finger to his chin, his blood pulsating beneath his skin. Tim wrote these things down and Jack took the opportunity to examine his body movement. He seemed tense. Jack surpressed a smirk. Jack pat along his jacket and withdrew his pack of cigarettes, "May I?" He asked, arching his eyebrows. Tim looked up from writing.

"That's fine," He said, looking back down to his scrawling pen.

Jack lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply, and exhaling in the direction of Tim's desk. He watched the smoke waft around the busy lawyer, placing the cigarette between his lips as he watched Tim with his bright blue eyes. Tim licked his lips and lifted his eyes.

"Did you unconver any secrets?" Tim asked.

Jack shrugged and stood, pacing behind the chairs for a moment before turning towards the snow caked windows, "Do I even want to know the truth?" Jack asked, watching his smoke drift in lazy ribbons in front of him, "After so much time, you think the truth would've come out. But it hasn't. I'm done guessing. I'm done wondering. I simply don't care anymore, Tim."

"You've... tried everything you can?" Tim asked, his eyes staring at the paper in front of him.

"All that I can think of," Jack replied, lowering his cigarette, "I'm not tryin' to swim to the bottom of the ocean here."

"Jack..." Tim's voice seemed rather out-of-character. Rather dazed. Jack turned to him with arched eyebrows, his cigarette dangling between his lips, "What is your Rose like?"

"Sweet as a plum, when she wants to be," Jack replied, wandering closer to the desk. Tim seemed to be stewing on something while remaining absolutely still, "Beautiful, naturally. At this point, I could describe her as a damn siren. Enticing, but something dangerous underlays that beauty. Almost like..." Jack pondered for a moment, something inside of him quivering, "... a closet full of skeletons," Tim looked to Jack and the artist had a hard time withholding his chuckles. He looked to Tim, a grin spreading across his face, "Don't tell me... my own laywer is facing the same hardship!"

"No, no," Tim shook his head, trying to dissipate any feelings lingering across his face, "I'm completely capable of handling your case, Mr. Barnes-"

"Stop being so formal," Jack grabbed a leather chair, dragging it up right along the side of Tim's desk. Jack seated himself, uncaring of any ash falling onto the carpet. Tim seemed completely absent-minded to it as well, "You're a human, too, Tim. And I know when someone is troubled."

"This is inappropriate for your consultation," Tim replied, looking to Jack with his serious hazel eyes. His glasses glinted in the light of the wintry day, "You're here for help. It's not the other way around, Mr. Barnes."

"What'd I say about calling me Mr. Barnes?" Jack put his cigarette between his lips, inhaling evenly. Slowly, his eyes turned towards Tim.

"Jack," He faltered for a moment, "I would like to keep this about your matter at hand."

"No," Jack wagged his finger at Tim as he exhaled a plume of smoke, "I couldn't possibly sit here on a rant to you when you're under your own duress. Tim, I need quality service. And you only get that when you feel your best."

"Jack, really..." Tim shook his head and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "I want to give you consistency in my service. I certainly don't want it muddled by my personal life."

"Look, I already know things are going to end with Rose and I," Jack shrugged, "You might think I ultimately need a lawyer, but I don't," Jack looked to Tim, "I need a friend."

They sat in silence for a few moments while Tim pondered what Jack had said. Jack peered at him as he took a drag of his cigarette and then lowered it, "Do you have time for a beer?"

"Sorry?" Tim looked to him.

"We should go for a drink," Jack told him, leaning back and snubbing his cigarette out in the pot of a pothos, "I sure as hell got nowhere to be. What about you? Is your Rose waiting on you?"

Tim tapped his pen to his paper before he finally shook his head, "No. She's not."

"Great," Jack grinned and stood up, straightening his coat, "Let's go."


	31. Last Call

Chapter Thirty-One

_December 7th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack and Tim walked into a bar that was the nearest to Tim's law office. It was dimly lit with low hanging smoke formed around the buzzing lights coming from the rafters. Tim rarely went to bars, preferring to simply find a restaraunt, and he very rarely ever drank during the day, preferring coffee. He typically reserved drinking for the evenings. But today, he felt different about it.

The two men seated themselves at the corner of the bar, away from the few washed up patrons occupying the space. A few men glanced towards Tim and his crisp suit. Jack simply fit into the crowd. Jack ordered them two cheap beers. Tim remained silent, his shoulders hunched and his elbows on the bar. When they were served, Jack relished in his first frothy sip.

"So, by your demeanor, I'm guessin' you're in the same boat as me," Jack said, nodding towards Tim, "Things seemed to be going well when I last saw you."

"I thought they were," Tim finally took a drink of the beer. It was tangy and left a rather unpleasant after taste, but Tim continued to nurse it as, finally, he allowed himself to wallow in his current predicament. He was tired of forcing himself to act like he was made of stone. Something about Jack comforted him and he felt his role as a lawyer sliding off him in that moment, like a heavy coat.

"What happened?" Jack asked, setting his elbows on the bar and taking a swig of beer.

Tim still seemed hesitant. He placed his knuckles to his chin as he contemplated his words. He bobbed his knee absent mindedly and slowly lifted his eyes to look at Jack, "I... don't know," He finally said, licking his lips pensively, "I thought things were going well. But a few days ago, she laid it on me that she didn't think she could be with me."

Jack pulled his cigarette from his coat and stuck one between his lips, toying with the filter by the tip of his tongue. He held the pack out towards Tim who declined by shaking his head, and instead, opted to take a drink a beer. Jack lit his cigarette and looked to Tim, "Well, what'd she say?" Jack asked, smothering a smirk, "Startin' to sound like me, Tim."

"She said the most ludicrous thing," Tim raked his hand through his dark brown locks, "She told me I deserved better. That she wasn't the right one for me," Tim shook his head and exhaled, nearly frustrated, "How could she think that? She looks like a goddess from one of those Pre-Raphaelite paintings. You know which ones I'm talking about, right?"

"Yeah, the ones that featured primarily red headed girls," Jack nodded, well-versed in his art history, "I've seen a few of 'em on display at some different museums. So, you're telling me she is drop-dead gorgeous?"

"She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Tim said, staring distantly at nothing in particular while taking a drink of his beer.

"Yeah," Jack said after lowering his beer, "It's the pretty ones that are the most trouble."

"It's not even that she's trouble," Tim shook his head, "She just... has been through a lot."

"Oh, like what?" Jack asked.

"She was on the _Titanic_," Tim replied after pondering for a moment, "I can't imagine how difficult that was on her. She's completely isolated from her family. Isn't that absurd? I couldn't ever dream of a life without family."

"Well, then, you're the lucky one here," Jack shrugged, "I lost my entire family before I was even thirteen years old."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tim said genuinely, looking to Jack. Jack stared back at the lawyer for a moment and swallowed his beer roughly. Jack had been having fun putting on a charade for Tim, but the more they spoke, the more Jack realized Tim was similar to him, drowned in a lovesick feeling for the same exact woman. Jack was beginning to uncover just how crucial Rose had become in Tim's life in the past year, during his own absence. Part of Jack was sad for him, but the other part was territorial, as if he had to stand the small ground he had left in Rose's life.

"Don't be," Jack finally said, signalling to the bartender for another round that was served promptly. He grabbed hold of his fresh cold beer, gripping it tightly beneath his trembling fingers, "We can't spend our whole lives regretting, right?"

"I've always lived by that standard," Tim lowered his eyes, "But, Jack," He made direct eye contact with him again, "I'm fearful that if I just let Rose go, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. She means so much to me. She's absolutely unforgettable. Her laugh, her eyes, her skin... there's something intoxicating about that woman that I have yet to put my finger on. Something about her drives me mad. She insists she's a mess with her own closet full of skeletons, like your Rose, but I just can't accept that excuse. I'm not a man that's afraid of work. I'd do anything to have us be together."

Jack took a slow drag of his cigarette, glancing to his hazy ribbon drifting away from him. He looked towards Tim who was continuing to nurse his new beer without so much as a second thought now, "Well, see, that's your problem," Jack said, making Tim pause and lower his drink.

"I'm sorry?"

Jack adjusted himself on his barstool, his cigarette dangling loosely between his lips, "I've been around the block, Tim. You're makin' the same mistakes that I did."

"And what's that?" Tim furrowed his brow.

"You can fix a fence, you can fix a car," Jack replied, taking his cigarette out of his mouth, "But you cannot fix a person. You can't un-do the hurt, you can't make the regrets and pain go away. Only the person actively feeling those things can. Sounds to me like she knows where she stands. If you love her, then you should respect how she feels."

"I understand her feelings," Tim said, "I've never faced the hardships she has. But she doesn't give herself enough credit. I just want to prove to her she's more than what she thinks she is," Tim leaned forward on the bar, "If I was able to convince Rose of the amazing woman she is, I feel like she could equip herself to finally have an attempt at a happy life."

"It's not a one size fits all," Jack told him, blowing smoke into the already muggy bar.

"So, what? I'm supposed to just give up on what I believe is the love of my life?" Tim asked, hunching his shoulders in discontent, "What if I never meet someone like her ever again?"

"Oh, there's plenty of fish in the sea," Jack smirked, his eyes rolling over to Tim, "You just gotta put your bait back on the hook and cast. You never know what you may find."

Tim shook his head, "I'm ordering a whiskey. I need one. How about you?"

"Shoot yeah, let's do it," Jack grinned, "The more I drink, the wiser I get."

Tim smiled politely at this before signalling to the bartender. Jack figured they'd each get a shallow glass, but to his surprise, Tim purchased an entire bottle off the shelf for the two of them to share. Jack watched as Tim poured the amber-colored drink into a crystal tumbler and threw his head back. Jack remembered that Rose had always told him how prim and proper the lawyer was. But in this moment of time, Jack felt like he was uncovering a whole new side to the man.

After filling his tumbler again, Tim reached into the inside of his coat and pulled a small velvet box out, setting it on the bar. Jack's grip tightened around his cup of whiskey as he stared at it. He felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest, every muscle in his body tensing. Jack's nostrils flared as he looked at it before meeting Tim's eyes.

"What's that?"

"That's her ring," Tim replied, sipping his whiskey slowly now, relishing in the warmth.

"You actually bought one?" Jack nearly sounded incredulous.

"I bought it _before _she tried to end things," Tim told him, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he corrected them, "This is how serious I am about this, Jack. You have to understand why I'm just a broken record harping on about how she is the one. I know she is. It's a gut feeling and I've always been told to follow that instinct."

"May I?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows and nodding towards the box.

Tim gave him an open-palmed gesture, "Please," He then poured himself a new glass.

Cautiously, Jack took the velvet box into his hand. He tilted it back and forth for a moment, gauging the weight, before he took a deep breath and opened it. It was a sterling silver ring with delicate ivy engravings along the band. Sitting atop it, however, was a large diamond, glinting in the dim lighting of the bar. Jack tilted the box again to inspect the ring closely.

_God, look at that thing! You woulda gone straight to the bottom! _Distantly, Jack heard the Atlantic Ocean washing through his ears. The diamond was too large, in Jack's opinion. Too gaudy for the taste of Rose. It looked like yet another link in her shackles.

"It's pretty," Jack finally said, pursing his lips. He closed the box and put it back onto the bar, "But do you really think it's the right thing to do? Listen to what she's tellin' you, Tim."

"Nothing she's told me has ever given me the thought of turning tail," Tim said, pouring himself another drink. His brow was furrowed deeply. He was obviously a mix of drunk and frustrated, which was probably very conflicting to feel. He set the whiskey down with a heavy clunk and the alcohol sloshed about in the bottle. Tim's hazel eyes met Jack's blue ones, "I'm not giving up on her, Jack. I can't. She's heartbroken, she's lonely. Who would I be to just accept what she says and leave her that way? I can't do it. I _won't _do it."

Jack placed his head in his hand and took a sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving the determined Tim, "So, from what I've gathered, the emotional aspect of this relationship is, to put it bluntly, a train wreck," Jack cleared his throat and straightened up in his barstool, the confidence of alcohol leaking into his veins, "How are things otherwise? Do you have fun with her?"

"Dinner's are always great," Tim nodded, "It seems like we never run out of things to talk about. She's brilliant, Jack. I could listen to her speak for hours on end," Jack felt his skin tingle at his words, "She has so many diverse interests. She's seen so much of the world. Her personality is as unique as her looks are."

"What about... the physical aspect?" Jack eyed him from beneath his brow before refilling his drink to occupy himself.

"I told you she was beautiful," Tim said, throwing his whiskey down in one foul swoop. Jack passed the bottle, amused by Tim's ability to simply let go, "Not to be un-gentlemanly, but she is a treasure beneath all those clothes. I've only slept with her once and it was magnificent."

"Just once?" Jack echoed, trying his damnedest to withhold any laughs.

"I don't want to push her," Tim replied, glancing around the bar, "I want her to be comfortable with me. These things take time."

Jack smirked and lowered his eyes to his whiskey. He gave the cup a gentle jolt, watching the ripples spread across the surface. Jack couldn't help but relish in the conversation. Poor little Tim, Jack thought to himself. Only been around the block with Rose once, while he and Rose had been to the moon and back. Jack eventually cleared his throat and looked to the stewing lawyer.

"Now that it's all out in the air..." Jack waved his hand around him, "You're a logical man. You see things for how they really are. From everything you've told me right now, what part about that seems salvageable? What part sounds easy?"

Tim laughed, surprising Jack, "Nothing about love is easy, Jack."

"I disagree," Jack shook his head, now silencing the lawyer, "When two people love each other, they know it. And they do anything to make it possible. It sounds to me like she's dodging you, Tim. She's already wounded and bleeding. She probably doesn't know what's left to do."

"I think she's just haunted by what happened to her in the Atlantic Ocean," Tim said, "She's a strong woman. I think she just needs time. Eventually, the pain has to lessen, doesn't it?"

"Depends on the person," Jack shrugged.

"Well, I know Rose," Tim poured himself more whiskey. The bottle was nearing empty at this point, "She's strong enough to come through this. I know she is. And I'll be waiting for her on the other side. There's nothing I want more than her to be happy."

"Did you ever stop to think..." Jack paused and rapped his knuckles against the bar. He licked his lips pensively and looked to Tim, who was indulging in his whiskey, "... that maybe she'd just be happier by herself?" Tim paused and lowered his eyes. The two men remained silent.

...

It was dark outside when Jack and Tim finally emerged from the bar. It was cold and had been snowing all day. Several city workers were busy hauling shovel after shovel of snow into enbankments following the paths, sprinkling salt as they went. Tim adjusted his coat on his shoulders and wobbled for a moment. He couldn't recall the last time he had been so drunk. Jack immediately lit a cigarette when they stepped outside. He tilted his head back and looked to the stars for a moment.

Tim cleared his throat and looked to Jack, "Thank you."

Jack snorted, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips, "For what?"

"I really don't have any true friends to confide in," Tim shuffled his feet, "It was... nice to be able to just talk to someone for once. I hope this doesn't change your mind about using my services. I am more than happy to be your lawyer, Jack."

Jack smirked and turned his head towards Tim. He raked his hair from his eyes and nodded, tapping some ash off the end of his cherried cigarette, "Yeah. I think you'll make a fine lawyer for me, Tim. You should be seein' me around."

"Do you live far? I can call a taxi for you."

"No, no," Jack lifted his hand, "I'm just fine. What about you?"

"I'll make it," Tim grinned crookedly.

Jack began to slowly back away from Tim, his shoes crunching through the snow, "Remember what we talked about, alright?"

"I will."

Jack paused for a moment, putting his hands in his pockets. He glanced around, his smoke following his movement. Finally, Jack looked back towards the lawyer, "There's a lot of people in this world."

Tim lowered his eyes and nodded, "I know."

"Goodnight, Tim," Jack said, exhaling a plume of smoke. And with that, he turned around and hunched his shoulders, bracing himself against the bitter cold winds. Luckily, majority of the walk was downhill for Jack. When the sidewalk began climbing upwards, he knew he was close to Rose's apartment. He smirked to himself, recalling the long afternoon he spent with Tim. He was hopeful he had given the lawyer something to think about, something to chew on.

Jack stomped his cigarette out and let himself into the dim front foyer of the apartment complex. He shook his boots around to prevent snow from tracking in. He let himself into the first apartment on the right and paused as he entered the door. Rose was laid out cross the couch in a black silk robe. Her head was tilted into the couch cushions, her eyes fluttering as she slept. Strewn across her chest was a book about James Madison. Jack smiled and gently closed the door, shrugging out of his coat. He lifted the book from Rose's slumbering body and closed it, setting it precariously atop another stack of books. He sat down on the edge of the couch and took hold of her slender hands, into his chilly ones. Tenderly, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. Rose's eyes slowly opened and she blinked rapidly, turning her head towards Jack.

"Jack," She breathed quietly, still rousing from her nap, "where have you been?"

Jack grinned and tilted his head, some blond hair clawing across his forehead, "I was just takin' care of some business. That's all."


	32. Tis the Season

Chapter Thirty-Two

_December 13th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

The snow was beginning to pick up outside. Rose watched the trees lurch about in the sharp wind as dark clouds gathered in the sky. It would be another harsh winter yet again. Rose shivered as she stared outside the large bay windows onto the street. She felt awful. Not just mentally, but physically as well. She felt herself coming down with an awful sickness, most likely from being out in the brisk weather. Rose felt that terrible cold feeling inside of her, similar to what she had fought aboard the _Carpathia _so long ago. Her entire body ached as she walked behind the bar and poured herself some tea. She leaned against the counter and shivered, wrapping her dark gray cardigan around her tighter. She blew the steam away from her tea and glanced around the rather quiet diner. Winston emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of mugs.

"Rose, doll, are you drinkin' tea?" Winston arched his eyebrows as he hauled the tray below the bar. He straightened up, placing his hand on the counter, "I've never seen you drink tea before. Do you feel alright?" He pressed his sausage-like fingers to Rose's temple for a moment.

"Probably just a cold," Rose shrugged, sipping the tea.

"Well, I don't like the sound of that," Winston shook his head and began fixing himself a cup of coffee, "Why don't you head home? We're not busy. We'll survive."

"I don't have much longer on my shift," Rose lowered her mug, a shiver wracking her sore body again.

"Even more of a reason," Winston glanced over his shoulder, "Get out of here," He turned towards Rose, "You're paler than normal."

"It's just the weather," Rose replied, "I don't do well in cold temperatures."

"Yeah, 'cause you're as skinny as a broomstick," Winston smirked, "Really, doll, you should head home and get into bed. You should try to stop the sickness before it gets any worse. And before you start infectin' the rest of my staff."

Rose grinned weakly, "Can I finish my tea first?"

"Of course, doll," Winston winked, before hustling on to the kitchen.

...

When Rose walked in the door, she felt weak at the knees. Her stomach was tossling violently. Rose was convinced she was coming down with a sort of cold, which irked her, as she didn't have the money to really see a doctor. She unwound her coat from around her waist and hung it on the wrack. She tenderly touched her stomach, pleading for the nausea to go away. Rose felt so winded as she walked towards the kitchen and prepped a kettle to make some peppermint tea, in hopes of making her dizziness go away. After getting her tea on the burner, she collapsed on the couch, throwing her arm across her forehead. The room spun around her whether her eyes were opened or closed. Rose felt absolutely miserable.

Rose curled up on the couch, clutching her stomach as it tossed and turn, as if it was a violent sea during a storm. She couldn't help but think it was the worst time to get sick. With the holiday season approaching, she couldn't afford to not work. The tea kettle whistled and Rose stiffened at the sound. How nice tea sounded, but she didn't want to move a bone in her body. Rose waxed and waned between hot and cold. One moment, she would be shivering, and the next, she would feel a sweat breaking out across her body.

Eventually, Rose lugged herself to her feet and dragged herself to her bedroom, where she changed into a cotton nightgown and put on a fluffy robe. She sniffled and looked at pale-self in the mirror as she pinned her hair up. She leaned forward, pressing her palms flat to the vanity as she felt a searing burn in her throat from bile. Her stomach lurched horrendously and for a moment, she thought she was going to be sick, but it finally calmed enough for her to walk back to the kitchen and fix herself some peppermint tea.

Rose collapsed into a recliner, curling her legs up beneath her. She sipped at the tea slowly as another wave of nausea hit her. She pressed her slender fingers to her forehead, clenching her eyes closed as she couldn't decide if she was going to throw up or not. After a moment, Rose opened her eyes and looked towards the window, where the wind was howling and flurries of snow were darting through the air. She watched until the snowflakes made her dizzy. She took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils, as she sunk against the cushions and shivered. She held her tea cup close to her as she focused on trying to find equilibrium in her body. In the next moment, however, her cup of tea was forgotten on the coffee table as she found herself heaving up the contents of her stomach in the bathroom. The tile was cool against her legs, making her shiver. Her throat seared, her entire body ached. Rose flushed the toilet and fell back against the wall, pressing her forehead to her knees. She sighed heavily, pressing her sticky skin to the cool wall. Every moment had her in pain. It had to be a bad cold, she thought. _'Tis the season... _Rose told herself miserably.

...

Jack stepped back from the finished commissioned painting of the boys playing marbles. He glanced to it as he set his pallet on the communal table, his hands on his hips. He gnawed on his lip as he turned his head this way and that, making sure it looked right from all angles. He was still undecided on how he felt about the lighting.

Frenchie appeared from the back room, lugging some buckets after him as he continued with the next painting, of a woman in a white dress standing on a frozen lake. He brought his things to the communal table and grinned at the painting, "Jack, is it done?"

Jack looked over his shoulder and shrugged, "More or less."

"It looks good," Iris lifted her head from drawing, "But Jack's been staring at it for awhile now."

"Stop with your staring," Frenchie waved his hand at Jack, "It looks magnificent. Probably much more than Mrs. Wilson is even expecting."

Jack stared intently at the painting for another moment before he heaved a sigh, "Well, there's no more time to tweak it, so I guess that's how it will be."

Just outside the large bay windows, the tree branches scratched against the panes. The trio glanced towards the wind and snow flurries. Iris closed her portfolio, staring at the window intently. She cradled her head in her hand and looked to her brother, "Maybe we should call it a day before we get snowed in, Frenchie."

Frenchie glanced to all his supplies on the table and sighed upon glancing back to the window, "Well... I guess this is a good stopping point. Damn, I hate this weather," Frenchie paced around for a moment and snapped his fingers, "Let me take a canvas home with me, at least," And with that, he turned on his heels and returned to the back room.

Iris came to her feet and crossed to the coat rack, grabbing her peacoat. Gently, she pulled some woolen gloves over her slender hands. She peaked at Jack from behind her curtain of long blonde hair. Jack was leaned up against the communal table, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't aware of Iris staring at him for a few moments, but eventually, he turned his eyes on her.

"Something wrong with my face?" He asked with a grin, which Iris returned. She laughed lightly as she tied the sash to her coat and crossed to stand beside Jack. She gazed to the painting for a moment. Jack lowered his eyes, "One of the shadows is wrong."

"You can't even tell," Iris shook her head, adjusting her gloves again.

"I'll never stop seeing it," Jack laughed. He turned and went towards the door and began pulling his coat on, "Hopefully no one will notice," He smirked, fumbling with the buttons.

Iris paused and turned towards Jack, "You're leaving, too?"

Jack lifted his eyes, arching his brows, "Yeah, why?"

"Let me guess... you're going to see Rose?" Iris pressed her hip into the communal table, her gloved hand running over the dirty surface, "Do you even sleep here anymore?"

"Sometimes, yeah," Jack shrugged, continuing with his winter gear, "I just wanted to see her, that's all."

"Yeah," Iris nodded, lowering her eyes, "I know."

Jack huffed silently, trying to hide any exasperation evident on his face, "Is there a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," Iris shook her head.

Jack shuffled his feet, "I'll be back tomorrow morning to help with getting our commissions delivered."

"Okay," Iris said, turning her head away.

Jack clenched his hands for the slightest moment before he left without another word. Iris looked towards the door as it fell shut behind Jack. She let out a long sigh, running her hand through her wavy hand. She turned towards the backroom, "Are you ready yet!?" She called, feeling rather irritated.

"One moment!" Frenchie yelled back.

Iris fell against the communal table again, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked towards Jack's finished painting again, gnawing on her lip. She then shook her head and looked to her boots, sighing heavily.

...

When Jack came through the door of Rose's apartment, it was silent. No candles were lit. She wasn't anywhere to be found in the living room. He noticed a forgotten kettle of tea on the counter. He approached it slowly and lifted it, realizing it was nearly full. Jack gazed over the breakfast bar to see a mug of tea, that was full, sitting on top of a stack of books. Jack shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch as he wandered down the hall to her bedroom. Her bed was made and it was clear she hadn't been in it since they left that morning. Jack furrowed his brow and was turning back towards the living room when he noticed the smallest sliver of light peaking out from beneath her bathroom door. Slowly he approached and gently rapped on the door with his knuckles.

"Rose?" He called gently. There was silence, "Rose?" He called again.

Jack pushed the door open and when he did, his heart nearly leapt into his throat. Rose was laying on the bathroom floor, her arm strewn across her eyes. She was curled up into a ball. Jack dropped to his knees and leaned over her, tucking his hand behind her head, "Rose!" He said, tilting her upwards. Her eyes fluttered and when she opened them, he saw how bloodshot and tired they looked, "Rose! What's wrong?" He asked, holding her in his arms now, cradling her against him.

"Please," She whispered weakly, "don't jostle me around much."

"What happened?" He asked, nearly shaking as he gazed down at the pale woman.

"I'm just sick, that's all," Rose replied, closing her eyes again and tilting her head against his chest, "The tile floor felt so nice and cool."

"Have you been throwing up?"

"Not since I stopped moving," She croaked, "Probably just something I ate... maybe just the weather..."

"What hurts?" Jack asked, sitting criss cross now and pulling her into his lap.

"Everything..." She whispered, her eyes still closed.

"I should take you to a doctor," Jack said, glancing towards the door for a moment.

"No, I don't need to go," Rose opened her eyes now, scrunching her eyebrows together, "Really, please don't take me to the doctor."

"But what if you need medicine?" Jack insisted.

"I'm not running a fever," Rose told him, "It's probably just food poisoning or maybe a little cold. I got sick like this last year," She closed her eyes again as the lamp on the wall began to make her nauseous.

"Well, then, I'm taking you to bed," Jack slowly began shifting to his knees, picking Rose up bridal style. She sighed at the movement and tucked her forehead against his chest. Carefully, Jack manuevered out of the bathroom and carried her to the bed. He bent his knees slightly and gave the quilt a flick with his wrist to pull it back. Gently, he laid Rose against the pillows and knelt to the ground, pulling her boots off. He then swung her legs onto the mattress and watched her body sink in. Rose tilted her face into the coolness of the pillow as Jack pulled the quilt over her and seated himself on the edge of the bed, "Have you eaten today?"

Rose cracked her eyes open at what she thought was a ridiculous question, "No, how could I?"

"Sounds crazy, I know," Jack smirked, adjusting the blanket on her shivering body, "But you should probably put something in you. Even if it comes back up and out, at least you're putting some nutrition into you. I'll make you something light, okay?" He leaned forward and pecked her on the forehead.

"Jack, you don't have to stick around. This is an awful way to spend your afternoon. Don't worry about me. Maybe I just need sleep."

"Well, too bad, because Nurse Jack is here," Jack grinned. He brought his thumb on to gently caress her cheek, "I'll be back in just a moment."

Jack closed the door behind him and trudged down the carpet to the kitchen. He kicked his shoes off and rolled his sleeves, stepping into the kitchen. He peaked into the ice box. Rose had many different kinds of cheese and deli meats, some eggs and butter, but everything looked to be a little much for someone with an aching stomach. He then ventured to the cupboard, pulling a little string to illuminate the pantry. He glanced around, finding a bag of potatoes and onions, some sugar, brown sugar, and flow. He tilted his head up to the shelf above his head and smiled when he saw a few different cants of soup. He pulled a cluster down into his arm and took them to the kitchen counter, placing his hands on his hips. There was a beef stew. Peas and carrots brother. Mushroom soup. Tomato soup. Chicken noodle soup. Jack smiled, that was the one.

He put the rest of the cans away and brought salt, peppers, and oregano to the counter. He got a pot on the oven and ignited the pilot, allowing a steady flame to heat the bottom of the pot. He dumped the chicken noodle soup in and stirred a bit. He then snapped his fingers and busied himself over the sink cleaning the tea kettle out. He then promptly got it on a hot plate and began making a fresh batch of ginger tea, in hopes of calming Rose's stomach. He delicately sprinkled salt, pepper, and oregano bits into the soup, continuing to stir as it bubbled and popped at the surface. He took a curt whiff and grinned. Reminded him on the soup his mom would make him on a cold Wisconsin day, not much different than what they were experiencing in New York City currently.

Jack found a tray in a cupboard and poured a bowl liberally, hoping she would gain an appetite. He then gingerly placed her tea cup on a saucer and onto the tray. He walked down the hallway and eased the door open. Rose was awake, her eyes staring towards the ceiling, her arm over her forehead. Her green eyes looked to him and mustered a weak grin. Jack brought the tray to her night stand.

"Feelin' any better?" He asked.

"Nauseated," Rose replied, "And still not hungry, I'm sorry."

"Well, give the aroma a chance," Jack laughed, "At least drink the tea I made you. It has ginger in it," Jack held the tea cup out towards her and she took it into her hands, their fingers sliding over each other's.

"Thank you," She said quietly.

"I'm just gonna hang out in the living room and do something quiet," Jack told her, putting his hands into his pockets, "If you need anything, just holler, okay?"

Rose nodded and Jack began towards the door, but Rose called after him, making him pause, "Will you please bring me a mop bucket from under the sink? I think I'm going to throw up."

Jack smiled at her, he couldn't help himself, "Sure. I'll get you one."


	33. Two Worlds

Chapter Thirty-Three

_December 19th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Across the room, a man gently played a grand piano. The soft Christmas songs crooned across the low-lit restaraunt, filling the space with excited energy. Beneath the candlelight, Jack watched the nicest bottle of scotch he'd ever seen glimmer. It probably cost more than what Jack made a year. Jack slowly lifted his eyes to his dinner mate. Tim was swirling his scotch in a crystal tumbler as he glanced around the room before adjusting his glasses on his nose.

"Thanks for coming out with me tonight, Jack," Tim finally said. Jack tossed some hair from his face.

"Sure. I'd never turn down some scotch," He grinned and then shrugged, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Tim nodded, "I guess I just needed a friend, that's all."

"Let me guess," Jack took a swig of his scotch, "Things haven't gotten any better?"

"I'm deciding to just leave her alone for the time being... let Christmas pass over," Tim lowered his eyes to his alcohol, "The holidays always seem to bum her out. Always, right at the beginning of November, the light has been struck from those beautiful eyes of her's. It's heartwrenching to watch, but Jack," Tim looked across the table, "I feel like I'm powerless to do anything. I feel like I can't make her happy."

Jack leaned forward on his elbows, the candle on the table under-lighting his face, "Do you want sympathy? Or are you looking for honesty?"

Tim stared intently at Jack for a moment and cleared this throat. He fleetingly glanced around the ambient restaraunt before turning his eyes back on Jack, who was patiently waiting for his answer, "The truth is always the right way, isn't it?"

"That's how I like to live," Jack told him before he tilted his head back and drank some scotch, "The truth is the most important, always."

"Then... what is the truth?" Tim asked. His tone almost sounded rhetorical.

"I just don't think you two were compatiable," Jack shrugged, "When you feel powerless to help someone you love, I think it just means you two don't work well together," Jack paused, his crystal tumbler just grazing his lips, "Have you ever been in love before Tim?"

Tim pondered the question while pouring himself a new glass. Gingerly, he set the bottle back on the table and sighed lightly, "I don't think so, no. Well, not before Rose, anyway," He waved his hand dismissively as Jack shot the rest of his whiskey down his throat, enjoying the searing feeling it left in its wake, "I've had relationships with other women, but it was always clear why, in the end, we didn't stay together. It's different with Rose, though. I don't want things to end. I know there has to be a solution for us. There's _always _a solution."

"Are you sure about that?" Jack looked to him fleetingly as the amber liquor filled his empty glass. Jack popped the cork back onto the bottle and set it down carelessly, making the candles shutter on the table, "Are you sure that's not just the lawyer-part of you talking? You have to separate those worlds, Tim. Love has different rules than a court does. There are exceptions to everything. Sometimes, love _doesn't _have a solution. If I'm recallin' correctly, it's the whole reason we even know each other, right?"

A small smile grew across Tim's lips for a moment before it was wiped away just as quick. He set his elbows on the table and heaved a sigh, "I just don't want to accept that, Jack."

Jack leaned in closer, his voice low, "Well, it's not a plea deal. You're just gonna have to accept that's the way things are."

Tim pressed his fingers to the tip of his chin. He was reduced to silence as Jack's words echoed through his mind. He licked his lips pensively. Jack watched with a small interest as his drinking mate wax and waned through many different emotions. Tim huffed a little and lowered his eyes to the candles on the table. The flames gleamed in his round lens.

"I don't know how long I can stay away," Tim finally said. His voice oozed with hurt, "I know it's a two-way street. If she really missed me, there's nothing stopping her from knocking on my door," Tim looked to Jack, whose hand was clenching his crystal tumbler, "There's also nothing stopping me from knocking on her door either, though."

"What if she doesn't answer?" Jack asked. The entirety of his shoulder muscles were tense.

"Right now, I don't think she would," Tim replied, taking a curt sip of his scotch, "If I wait... if I hold out for as long as I can, there may be a chance she will open that door for me again one day. I'm going to wait for her, Jack."

"Why?" Jack shrugged, knitting his eyebrows together, "Why not just find someone who _does _want to be with you now?"

"Because I love her."

"Is that enough?"

"I think it is," Tim nodded. He glanced towards the pianist as _O Holy Night _filled the restaraunt. Tim paused to listen to the notes before slowly turning his eyes back towards Jack, "I want it to be enough."

Jack drank some of his scotch, his eyes never leaving Tim as the Christmas music continued in the background. Jack licked his lips, "Don't we all, Tim?"

...

Jack brushed some snowflakes off his shoulders as he came through the door of Rose's apartment. He glanced around as he ruffled more snow from his hair and shrugged out of his rather damp woolen coat. Rose had gotten out of bed obviously. The crackers and tea packets he left on the counter were gone. Jack hung his coat up on the rack and poured himself some tea from the warm kettle. He wandered down the hall and gently eased her bedroom door open. Rose was lying in bed with a warm cloth strewn across her forehead. She had crackers and a few dirty tea cups cluttered on her nightstand. Rose was reading a book propped up against her knees.

"Hey," Rose said, glancing towards the window at the setting sun, "where have you been?"

Jack stood in the doorway for a moment, cradling his tea cup towards his chest. He eventually shrugged and said, "Frenchie and I are just takin' care of a few last minute things. The holidays make everything crazy," Jack went to the bed now and seated himself on the edge, making room for his full tea cup on her nightstand. He leaned against Rose, carressing her leg over the top of the quilt, "How are you feeling?"

"It comes and go," Rose replied, laying her head back against the cool pillows, "Some moments I feel alright enough to walk around. But the nausea always returns."

"What do you think it could be?" Jack asked, pressing his cheek against her bent knees.

"This happened to me last year," Rose told him, "I honestly just think I've caught something. The cold weather brings all kinds of dreadful things with it."

"Well," Jack sighed, hunching his shoulders for a moment, "I hope you feel alright on Christmas," He reached forward and gently carressed her cheek before lifting his hand to the damp rag, "Let me make this warm again, alright? I'll come lay down in bed with you."

Rose smiled as Jack stood, the rag dangling at his side. He went to the door and paused, turning back towards her, "Drink my tea. It's nice and warm. You're freezing to the touch."

Jack got a pot of water boiling and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the rag sizzle beneath the bubbling surface. The steam rose inches from his face, but Jack was still. His eyebrows were scrunched together as he thought about what Tim had said. He internally frowned at the idea of the man not wanting to give up. But Jack couldn't blame him. Tim was like him, in a way. Jack would never give Rose up. She had filled his mind constantly in her absence and still, she was ever-persistent on his mind in the present time. But still, Jack was determined, nearly desperate, to ensure Rose was his and his only.

After Jack had fished the rag out of the pot, he returned to Rose's room with his portfolio under his arm. He folded the rag and held it out to her. Rose thanked him and draped it across her head, sinking into her pillows with a light sigh. Jack kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed beside her, propping his portfolio up against his bent knees. She grabbed her book and lifted it, however, her eyes stared at the words without absorbing them. Rose pursed her lips for a moment and glanced towards Jack, who was inspecting the tip of his granite pencils.

"Were you really at the studio?" Rose asked.

Jack paused for a moment, his eyes wandering past his pencils. Rose shifted on the bed, fluffing her pillows in the same movement.

"Usually you have a certain smell about you," Rose continued, "Like rubbing alcohol and wood."

Jack licked his lips and finally turned his eyes to meet her's, "Nothin' gets by you, does it?"

"Where were you really, Jack?"

He sighed and lowered his head against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, "A place called Myron's Steakhouse."

Rose closed her book, "You were with Tim weren't you?" Jack simply nodded his head, "Why? Why do you continue to pursue him, Jack?"

"Because," Jack had to stop and inhale for a moment, biting on his lip. He lowered his pencils and propped himself up on his elbow, staring intently at Rose, who yearned for answers, "I love you, Rose. And I want you to be mine. Only mine."

Rose's eyes darted between his, "You know I am."

"But _he _loves you, too."

"I don't love him, Jack."

Jack sat up now, sitting criss cross on the bed. He fiddled with the ridged pencils between his fingers, all the while sighing, "Well, I want him to give up. I don't want to think about him waiting around for you. I want it to be clear he has no chance. We've come too far to have anymore put between us, Rose."

She lowered the rag from her forehead and sat forward as well, curling her knees to her chest. She spoke quietly to him, "It's not your problem to fix. And besides, I think it is very clear to him at this point how I feel. Promise me, Jack, you will not see Tim again."

Jack lowered his eyes to the quilt.

"Promise me, right now," Rose insisted.

Jack turned to her and lifted his hand to cup her cool cheek. She tingled at the feeling of his palm against her skin, "I'm not making you any promises I can't keep, Rose. But I won't do anything to jeopoardize us, that I can promise."

Rose gripped his wrist, her thumb tenderly carressing him, "Okay," She whispered, nodding, "I can accept that, Jack. I trust you."


	34. A Traditional Dawson Christmas

_Author's Notes: I wanted to have this up before Christmas rather than after, but that exact thing got in the way of finishing this chapter. Happy Holidays._

Chapter Thirty-Four

_December 24th, 1913_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack's internal clock had him awake at the first mornings light. He glanced to the window to see it was a rather overcast day and snow was already drifting over the city. Jack's eyes wandered to Rose, who was facing Jack. Her skin glowed in the whiteness of the weather. He tenderly pushed a stray curl from her cheek and her eyes fluttered for the slightest moment before she continued sleeping soundly. Jack got dressed and held his boots in his hands, quietly shutting the bedroom door after him. He crept down the hallway and then staggered into his boots, leaning against the back of the couch. He looked around the apartment surrounding him and placed his hands on his hips. Jack's eyes stopped at the empty space between the two windows in the living room. He smiled to himself and nodded, grabbing his wallet from the counter and shrugging into his coat.

The morning air was sharp against his skin as he stepped out onto the street. The many people that bustled by were wrapped up in scarves, ear mitts, and hats. All Jack had was a nice pair of leather gloves Iris had given to him. Immediately, like a bad habit, Jack stuck a cigarette between his lips and struggled to light it against the gusty wind coming from the alleys. He began up the street, snow flurries getting caught along his coat and in his hair.

As he stood at a street corner, he flicked some ash off the end of his cigarette and glanced around. The morning light was shedding through the slivers of the buildings and cascading across some windows. That's when Jack noticed a glinting and hurriedly, he crossed the street before he was given the signal. But it was so snowy, he wasn't worried about cars. His breath puffed behind him as he tossed his cigarette into a snow bank along the curb and approached the glittering window.

He used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the fog and dew, leaning forward, his eyes locked on what was before him. On a velvet flat sat a sterling chain, no more than fourteen inches long. And locked onto the chain was a silver shaped heart. Nothing fancy or elaborate, large or gaudy. It was tasteful and Jack could imagine it dangling just below Rose's defined shoulders, grazing against her porcelain skin. He glanced to the store hours painted on the window. They wouldn't be open for another thirty minutes.

Jack paused and took a moment to gaze up and down the rather desserted street. He spied a diner across the street and shuffled his feet in the snow for a few moments. He decided he'd just wait before continuing his intial task when leaving the apartment. Jack sniffled, glancing upwards to the falling snow. Rose dearly enjoyed sleeping in, he had noticed. He had imagine it wasn't much tolerated where she grew up. Jack liked watching her sleep, though. He had laid in bed for hours beside her, simply watching. Observing her full fluttering eyelashes, watching those lips move ever so slightly. Her chest rising and falling rthymically, her hips swiveled beneath the quilt. She had always looked so peaceful. It was exactly how he wanted to imagine her.

He turned to look back at the necklace in the window, his cheeks flushed and his hair windblown, _Rose deserves a real Christmas._

...

"... an excellent choice," A clerk told Jack as he bent under the glass counter and pulled a long rectangular velvet box out. He set it tenderly in front of Jack and grinned, adjusting his navy blue blazer, "A last-minute gift for your beloved, is that right?"

"It would really be the cherry on top," Jack replied, his eyes down as he opened the box and inspected the necklace closer, "How much is it?"

"Well, it's real silver," The clerk said, resting his elbows on the counter, "It's forty-two dollars."

"Forty-two, huh?" Jack looked up now, smiling, "Would you take forty?"

"I-uh-"

"Please," Jack leaned forward and lowered his voice, "I need the two dollars for one more errand," Jack continued to smile, his blue eyes illuminated by the brilliant lights of the casings displaying jewerly. The clerk stared at Jack, nearly flabberghasted, before he regained his composure and cleared his throat.

"Fine. Forty will do."

Jack placed the proper amount on the counter, "Thank you."

...

Jack had the velvet box tucked safe on an inside pocket of his coat as he continued to the top of a hill just a few blocks west of Rose's apartment. It overlooked the entirety of the low suburbs leading towards the river, neatly aligned in a grid-like pattern. He finished his cigarette and tossed it aside before entering a gated area that had a familiar scent.

Before him were several pine trees, neatly arranged. Taller ones that required an axe stood towards the back of the property. There were a few last minute buyers as well. Jack took his time strolling around many different kinds of trees. He smelled the bristles and touched the limbs. He glanced between the brush to look at the trunk. Jack paused for a moment as his hand glided over another limb of the fresh pine.

Jack hadn't shopped for a Christmas tree in nearly ten years. The last time had been with his father. They had chosen a tree that required an axe and Jack remembered complaining the whole time it was his turn to whack at the trunk. He could hear his father's chuckle as he effortlessly swung the axe. He was a tall and thick man, the strongest Jack had ever known. It was a shame, he thought, that he had inherited his mother's willowy frame.

Jack heaved a sigh and toyed with some bristles that had fallen into his palm. He twirled them between his fingers, watching each one fall to the ground. He then continued a few paces and laid his eyes on a rather bright pine tree that was just taller than him. Jack took a whiff of the pine and grinned. He then reached between the branches and gripped the trunk. He then saw the price tag dangling from a branch and gripped it, turning it to reveal it was two dollars; the only two he had left.

_Yup, this is the one, Dad._

...

When Jack returned to the apartment, he quietly peaked his head through the door. It was silent. He glanced to the grandfather clock to see it was barely after nine in the morning. He grinned triumphantly as he hauled the Christmas tree through the door. He was rather winded from the walk of hauling that, plus two more bags worth of things to give Rose the Christmas he wanted. He laid the bags down carefully and grabbed a steel holder given by compliment of the farm he had gone to. Jack hauled the holder and tree to the spot he envisioned and he smiled when he saw it fit perfectly in the space he had wanted.

Deftly, he pulled the festive garlands he bought out and wrung them around the Christmas tree. They sparkled and glinted in the morning light. He hung some orb ornaments that were of fun colors. He reached up and set a golden star on top, precariously holding his hands out to be sure it found its balance. He stepped back and inspected the tree. It looked very similar to what he was used to seeing as a kid.

Jack got a pot of peppermint tea brewing. He began shrugging out of his coat when he remembered the velvet box in his pocket. He withdrew it slowly, tenderly running his thumb across the smooth texture. He crossed to the Christmas tree, glancing between all the ornaments before he knelt down and tucked the box against the trunk. Jack paused, sitting at the base of the tree.

_Hm... pretty empty down here, _He heaved a sigh, _I wish I had more to give her. She deserves to have this apartment bursting with presents._

Jack stood back up and took more time to inspect the tree. He inhaled the scent of pine once more and grinned. The smell awakened new memories in him, however, and he found himself back in the kitchen, digging through Rose's rather well-stocked pantry. He inspected jar after jar, muttering to himself, as he disorganized the shelves in hopes of finding what he was looking for.

Finally, he pulled a can of cocoa powder down. It seemed Rose had never opened it. It was even the same brand his mother had bought. At the beginning of December, Jack remembered his mother used to rally him to find coins or earn coins to deposit into the "Hot Chocolate Fund". Together, he and his mother would drop pennies, nickels, and dimes into a jar on the kitchen counter, in hopes they could raise the funds for an expensive luxury like cocoa powder. They were always very good about reaching their goal and then some, in hopes of also being able to get marshmallows. Unfortunately, Rose had none of those in her pantry. He shrugged it off, however, and reached for the bag of sugar and for a small can of cinnanmon, just how his mom made it.

Rose had a carton of milk in a fridge and a small jar of cream. He gathered it into his arms and got a new kettle of milk over the flame. As the top of the milk began to foam, Jack added a few bits of cream. He leaned against the counter, waiting for the boil, as he held the can of cocoa powder in his hands, staring at the picture he had remembered seeing as a child. It was of an old woman, bathed in the light of what looked to be flames, while cradling a warm mug close to her cartoonishly round face. When Jack had come home from school closer to Christmas, his mom would place the can on the kitchen table, where it could be seen from where Jack entered. The picture of that old woman was a triumphant in Jack's childhood. Now, he looked at her and only felt remorse.

He carefully sifted some into the kettle bit by by, using a spoon to give stirs in between. Slowly, the milk darkened into the smooth consistency he was looking for. And ever so gently, he dashed some cinnanoman in, which tickled his nose. He grinned as he watched it continue to brew. He knew his mom would have been proud of this. She usually made it because none was to be wasted.

While that simmered, Jack made the typical breakfast of toast presented with butter, honey, and jams on a tray. Rose had been feeling better and seemed to have more energy, but she was still bogged down with a general malaise. He knew once the holidays passed, he would force her to the doctor. Jack wouldn't allow for Rose to simply accept that's pain she has to live with, that there's no remedy. But for now, he was resigned to making sure she was comfortable and taken care of.

The grandfather clock began to chime, drawing Jack's eyes upwards. It was ten in the morning. He figured it would probably rouse Rose from bed, especially when she noticed he was gone. Jack set the tray of breakfast up on the bar to greet her, along with a mug of piping hot peppermint tea. He left the hot chocolate on a low simmer to surprise her with.

Jack now leaned against the counter, sipping on his own peppermint tea. He listened carefully as he heard the familiar creak of the bed frame. He could hear her light footsteps around the room. Jack grinned to himself, blowing some steam away from his mug. Slowly, the bedroom door began to open and then, there was a pause. He knew she was probably standing in the doorway utterly confused. But her footsteps picked up again at a slow pace. Jack looked over his shoulder to see her slowly emerging from the hallway, her eyes locked on the tree in the living room. Her curls were wildly framing her face, a black cotton robe covering her slender body.

"Jack, did you-"

"Hey," Jack turned towards her now, setting his mug down on the counter, "Merry Christmas, Rose."

She licked her lips for a moment and gazed back towards the tree. She looked back to Jack and grinned, "Merry Christmas, Jack."

"Here, come sit down at the bar and eat," Jack gestured for her and she did as she was told. She grinned and began smothering butter on some toast, drizzling honey on top, "How are you feeling?" He asked, watching as she ate the toast and drank her tea without a second thought.

"Good, actually," Rose told him, smothering butter across another piece of toast, "Maybe it's just the Christmas Spirit, I don't know."

Jack laughed at this, "Well, good, because I'm treating you to a traditional Dawson Christmas," Rose paused and lifted her eyes from breakfast, "You wanna use my name, huh? Well, that means you'll have to abide by the traditions that come with it."

"Oh?" Rose cocked an eyebrow up, "Do tell, Mr. Dawson."

"Well, you're already doing the first one; having breakfast beside the Christmas tree," Jack grinned, gesturing towards the pine that was slowly diffusing itself in the apartment, "It was the only time of the year we were allowed to eat outside of the kitchen."

Rose grinned as she chewed on some toast, washing it down with peppermint tea.

"We also always went ice skating on a lake down the road from the farm," Jack told her. Rose glanced to the windows, making Jack copy. The snow was coming down quite heavily. Jack grinned, "Don't worry. There's a back-up for bad weather, you'll see."

"Oh, you're just prepared for everything," Rose couldn't help but laugh and Jack melted at the sight of her face so lit up, "What else must I do?"

"Well, you don't have a fireplace, so we will turn all the lights off and burn all the candles, and we will drink hot chocolate," Jack told her, "Already got some slow brewing on the burner."

"Really?" Rose arched her eyebrows and leaned around Jack to spy the kettle on the stove, "I had cocoa powder?"

"Yeah, in the pantry," Jack replied, nodding, "Same brand my mom bought, too."

Rose smiled, her eyes glittering, "I didn't realize your real name was Saint Nicholas. I could have sworn it was John Cole."

Jack wrinkled his nose at the thought, "Only my grandmother called me that."

"It's got a regal ring to it," Rose teased, pointing the butter knife at him before moving on to her third piece of toast, "John Cole, King."

Jack chuckled, drinking some warm tea, "I think their names are all William and Charles."

"Oh, there have been plenty of John's."

"Well, there ain't any Jack's," He grinned, "I'd be the first of my kind."

"And oh, what a difference you would make," Rose said softly, a coy smile on her lips.

...

After breakfast, Rose got dressed in a dark red long sleeve cotton dress with yellow threading. It was the closest thing she owned to anything resembling festivities. She took the time to brush and contain her wild curls to a rather messy bun. She sighed in resignation as a few curls refused to be pinned and dangled as a frame around her face. She dusted her cheeks lightly and applied a layer of dark lipstick. She adjusted the mound of hair on her head before deciding it was good enough and returned to the living room to find Jack adjusting the radio that was shoved into a free spot on one of her bookcases.

He glanced over his shoulder and paused for a moment, the knob in his fingers forgotten, "You look nice," He told her. Quickly, he regained his composure and cleared his throat, "I was just trying to find some Christmas music."

"Part of the tradition, as well?" Rose grinned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Don't tell me you didn't listen to Christmas music _on _Christmas?" Jack furrowed his brow and turned back to the radio.

"My mother just hired a quartet," Rose shrugged, "And I certainly don't recall it being anything other than that stuffy dragged-out royal music that's no different from the piece before it or after it."

"So, your family threw a Christmas ball?" Jack asked.

"Yes, when my father's business was prosperous," Rose folded her hands behind her back and walked a few paces, "When he was wealthy and respected, he had the _honor, _as my mother called it, of having his party on Christmas Eve."

"What was it like after that ended?" Jack's eyes were trained down on the knobs of the radio.

"We didn't celebrate at all anymore," Rose replied after a moment, "It's as if the entire holiday had been forgotten."

Jack turned towards Rose now, "How long has it been since you've celebrated Christmas?"

Rose shrugged, "Maybe... five years? I've lost count, to be honest."

"That makes this even more important to me," Jack told her, "That's why I want to do this for you," Jack turned back to the radio and Rose grinned, lowering her eyes to the carpet. She thought about how easy it was to talk to Jack. She marveled at the idea that she didn't have to think twice about what she told him. He naturally made her feel comfortable.

After a bit more fumbling with the radio, finally he was able to get a jazzy Christmas station to come through. Jack laughed triumphantly, backing away from the device and putting his hands on his hips, "Ah-hah! I knew that thing wasn't busted. It's probably just the damn weather," He turned to Rose and smiled, "This is the part where we dance."

"What? Your family really danced on Christmas Eve?" Rose asked, unfolding her arms.

"Well," Jack grinned sheepishly, "I'm improvisin' a bit."

The wind howled against the window panes, momentarily drawing Rose away. She looked to Jack and finally nodded and smiled back. Jack pushed a few recliners to the wall and held his hand out to Rose, who gingerly slipped her slender fingers through his. They drew in close to each other, Rose's arm dangling around his shoulders while his snaked around her waist. They meerely turned in circles due to the enclosed dance floor of the apartment.

Rose held close to his sturdy body, relishing in being in his arms. The warm candle light bathed his face, which was looking down on her tenderly. Rose brought her hand up to rest on his neck, "You know what I just realized?" Rose whispered.

"Hm?"

"I didn't buy you a present," Rose frowned at the thought. Jack simply threw his head back and laughed, shuddering in her grip.

"I don't care about that. It's beside the point," He told her warmly.

"But isn't that the point of Christmas? Giving each other gifts?" Rose knit her eyebrows together.

"No," Jack shook his head. He brought his hand up and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear, "Christmas is about being with those you love."

Rose looked to the tree, then back to him, "How come there's a present under the tree for me, then?"

"You wouldn't believe it," Jack gave her a goofy look, "but it came with the tree."

"Oh, does it fold up inside?" Rose grinned.

"It's the darndest thing, really," Jack told her. Rose giggled and fell against him.

"I'm sorry," She said into his shoulder. A gentle piano crooned behind them.

"You have nothin' to be sorry for," Jack wrapped his arms around her slim body, "Not a thing, Rose. This isn't even a fraction of what you deserve. Not even close to what I want to give you," He pressed his cheek into the top of her head and slowly, the couple stopped rocking, "I just want you to be happy. It's the only thing in the world I want."

Rose lifted her head to gaze into his eyes, "What about you, though? What do you want for yourself? It can't all just be about me, Jack."

"I just want you to be with me," He said after an extended silence.

"Well," Rose whispered, pressing her forehead against his chin, "I'd say your wish already came true."

...

The night drew in, though the snow continued at its steady pace. The lights in the apartment were off and only candles were lit. Jack and Rose sat on the floor of the disarranged living room, blankets draped over their shoulders. In between them was the kettle of hot chocolate and they each had their own mug of tradition. Rose took a sip of her hot chocolate and licked her lips, listening to the grandfather clock tick faithfully.

"What was your mother like?" Rose asked, pressing her back into the side of a chair. Jack lifted his eyes from his mug, leaning against the wall behind him.

"Generous," Jack replied after a moment, "We may have been poor, but that didn't stop her from helping other people. She kept a great home, made something from nothing. She spoiled me. She had wanted more children but apparently I was already a tough pregnancy and my dad... well, he was too afraid to lose her," Jack grinned crookedly, "For awhile, at least until I was eight or nine, she would sometimes call me Miracle Child. They didn't think I was goin' to survive infancy. But I made it. Somehow."

"The world is very cruel," Rose told him, fingering the lip of her mug, "My parents were money-hoarders and wouldn't glance the other way at people they considered outside their world. I couldn't even tell you the criteria. They could seem well-put together and my mother would already have her nose upturned," Rose shook her head at the thought, "They weren't warm. Or kind. Or loving. Nor did they pay me much attention. You were forced by this universe to lose your parents and yet... I got to keep mine."

"The universe didn't force me," Jack said, looking directly at Rose, "The universe was punishing me."

"What? Why would you say that?" Rose asked, a shadow from a candle falling across her face.

"My parents died at a very bad place in my life," Jack said very slowly. His eyes gradually dropped from her's, "I wasn't friends with the best of people. I guess you could even go as far to say they were hoodlums who ran amuck on innocent people simply because they were childish and found it humorous. I fit both of those criterias and was gettin' into a whole series of trouble. Stealing, destroying property..." Jack paused for a moment and gauged Rose's reaction. But she was simply listening to him, not an ounce of a flinch in her pupils, "We would ride our bikes and someone would stand on the pegs in the back with a baseball bat. And we'd just mow down a bunch of mailboxes. Breaking them entirely was even more amusing. I was stealing liquor and drinking like a fish in a field with these people. I'd be gone all afternoon and all night. I'd have my parents worried sick. And... feh, I was such a dick," He heaved a sigh, "I'd come home, like a little prick, wreaking of alcohol and cigarettes... and I'd have the audacity to fight with my parents, like I could justify my actions," Jack paused again and pressed his hand to his chin. Slowly, he looked to Rose, a gleam in his eyes, "Well, one night, I go out as normal. My mom made me promise to be home early. Someone snagged a bottle of their dad's whiskey and we were meeting up at our usual spot. Right beside a boulder in the fields, shaped kind of like a snail shell. We were drinking, shootin' the shit, all the normal things we'd normally do. Once we were good and drunk, we laid out in the fields and we saw smoke. We thought it was an odd time to do a bonfire, but we didn't do anything about it. Couple hours later, I finally manage to walk home. Took the long way, mostly cause I was lost, and even trailed through some other people's pastures and property. And when I finally stepped onto my road, I realized what all that smoke was. It was my home, burned to the ground. Nothin' but ashes. And no sign of my parents," He lowered his eyes and heaved a sigh, "The fire happened an hour after I was supposed to be home. And that last thing I ever said to my mom was, 'I promise'. And I didn't fulfill that promise. If I had been home, I would have died with them and for awhile... I wished that was what had happened."

Rose leaned forward and gripped his wrist, making him raise his eyes, "Nobody was punishing you. These things happen. It might feel like a coincidence but nothing in life is. It happens simply for a reason. And I think you found your wake up call in all those ashes, Jack. You've risen above what you chose to be before. I think it's noble and brave," She squeezed his wrist, "You have someone to live for. A reason to keep trying. And I think you're lucky to have that kind of drive behind you."

"The hot chocolate is my mom's way of doin' it," Jack told her, a small smile creeping along his lips, "She liked to pretend she had a secret ingredient... but my dad and I both knew it was just cinnanmon."

"We have to complete all the traditions for your mother," Rose insisted with a grin, "What else is left to do?"

Jack looked to Rose, nearly in a mischevious manner, "We still have to ice skate."

"And how will we do that?"

"Go put on a pair of woolen stockings. I'll show you."

...

When Rose returned to the living room in a pair of thick stockings, Jack had the Christmas music up louder and standing at the edge of the carpet by the kitchen. He looked rather excited and waved her over. Rose came to stand beside him, her eyebrows arched.

"Whenever the weather was too bad, we would skate in our socks on the tile. You have the perfect amount of space," Jack told her, his hands on his hips, "I know it sounds kind of lame, but just watch this; it'll have you excited."

Jack zipped out onto the tile and pressed his feet flat, leaning back at the same time and twisting. Rose smiled at the thought of young Jack doing that, as if he would have been more aero-dynamic. Jack slid across the tile rather quickly, bonking his hip against the counter. He laughed ferociously, his shoulders falling up and down.

"Come on," He waved to her.

"If I break my head open, you're paying for the stitches," Rose told him, sending him into another wave of cackles. Rose copied the same motion as Jack. It wasn't as slick and she was rather unsteady, but she slid into Jack, who wrapped his arms around her, "Okay," She giggled, "that is pretty fun."

"Ah, Rose, this is the simplest joy!" He told her, sliding around the tile again and doing a graceful little swirl, "You haven't lived until you've sock-slid on the tile."

"I guess not," Rose laughed, using the counter to propel herself across the kitchen. They darted between each other, watching as they came and went. The Christmas music lifted the atmosphere into something playful. Two grown adults whirled around on the tile floor in their stockings, laughing until they were wheezing. Finally they collided with each other in the center of the kitchen and nearly fell over laughing again. They panted as they draped their arms around each other, "Oooh... my stomach hurts from laughing so hard," Rose said, still in between chuckles.

"We should do it all year 'round, just for fun," Jack joked, adjusting her mound of hair that had fallen crooked on her head. Rose laughed at the gesture, "Okay, there's one last tradition we have to do now that it's dark."

"What's that?" Rose looked to him, her cheeks red with joy.

"You have one thing waiting for you under that tree."

Slowly, the duo went to go sit at the bottom. Rose carressed a branch, pressing the bristles to her nose and inhaling. She smiled pleasantly, her eyes gleaming in the glowing garlands. Jack reached under the tree for the one lone velvet box. He sighed, twisting it around in his fingers.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked.

"I just..." He looked to her, "I wish I had more to give you."

"Don't be silly," Rose shook her head, "You've given me enough."

Jack was silent for a few moments before he finally nodded and held the long rectangular box out to her. Gingerly, she gripped it between her fingers and peered at Jack. She grinned and slowly opened it. When she did, she froze. The silver glinted beautifully in the candle light. Tenderly, she grabbed hold of the necklace and lifted it from the box, watching it dangle before her wet eyes. Rose blinked rapidly as a few tears escaped down her cheeks.

"Jack, it's beautiful..." She told him, her throat nearly pinched, "I love it," She lowered the necklace and lunged towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He nearly tipped over as she situated herself in his lap, "Thank you," She whispered, lifting her palm to look at the simple yet significant necklace, "Will you put it on for me?"

Jack grinned and swept her fiery hair away from the nape of her neck, securing the necklace. It draped against her collarbone. Exactly how he imagined it. Gently, his hand came down and grazed where it dangled. Rose's skin tingled at his touch, "Merry Christmas, Rose," He said, their faces inches apart. Rose's hand tenderly stroked his jaw.

"Merry Christmas, Jack," She whispered before crushing her lips against his.


	35. The Right Time

Chapter Thirty-Five

_January 8th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose had woke up feeling rather awful. She did her best to conceal any discomfort she might have felt. She forced herself to eat breakfast with Jack, though it felt like she was chewing on ash. And she decided to go into work, not wanting to give in to feeling unwell. Rose looked realitively pale in the mirror, but had explained away to Jack she had accidentally used too much powder. The walk to work that cold, wet, and dreary day was an extreme pain for Rose. She kept her head down and her hands in her pockets as she braved the cold brunts of wind coming between the buildings. Deep inside her peacoat, she shivered. Her stomach tossled. Her knees felt weak.

Rose didn't even wait for the signal to cross the street as the diner came into view. She hustled across the street and into the dinner, nearly slamming the door after her. She took in an unsteady breath and seated herself in the booth beside the entrance. She held her chilled hand to her forehead for a moment as a bout of vertigo washed over her.

_You're fine, you're fine... _Rose told herself as the room spun around her. She blinked rapidly, willing it to return to normal. Bile stung the back of her throat as she gripped the edge of the table, nearly begging herself to feel well. Tears pricked the edges of her eyes as she let out a slow breath. Her head throbbed on her shoulders as finally, the vertigo waned.

Just then, Winston appeared from the kitchen with a tray of mugs in his arms, "Hey, Rose! Feelin' any better, doll?" He paused at the bar, setting his elbow on the rack of dishes, "You okay? Why're you sitting down?"

"My... my boots were dirty and slippery," Rose looked to him, nearly startled, "I was just cleaning them off."

"Are you sure?" Winston's bushy brow knitted together, "You're actin' strange, doll."

"Really, I'm fine," Rose popped up from the booth. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to keep her balance for the slightest moment, but she used the momentum to walk towards the kitchen, brushing past Winston nearly frenzied. She scattered for the back hallway and found the employee bathroom and managed to lock the door before she heaved her entire breakfast into the toilet.

...

Jack, Frenchie, and Iris sat at the community table. Frenchie was busy writing out his list of to-do's, who to contact, and what jobs were already lined up for the coming spring season. Iris and Jack were both busy drawing. Jack was doing something different for a change, and drawing his parents, as he had remembered them. Iris was busy drawing a wilted dandelion and had added in a neglected foot path. Jack glanced up fleetingly but double-took and paused when he saw Iris' paper.

"So, you can draw more than just flowers, huh?" Jack grinned, placing his chin in his hands.

"Guess so," Iris said, looking to him from behind her curtain of hair.

"I think you're doing tremendous," Frenchie told her, looking up from his paper, "Have you shown Jack what you've done with paint?"

"No."

"Wait- what!" Jack leaned forward, arching his eyebrows, "Do you have any here? Iris, I'd love to see them. Heck, you could become the third set of hands working here. We need it, right, Frenchie?"

"We are always busy," Frenchie agreed, nodding at Jack.

"Well, why haven't I seen one?" Jack asked.

"Because you're only here now to work," Iris sat up straight now, gripping her pencil between her fingers, "Half the time I can't even find you anymore."

Jack lowered his eyes to the dirty communal table. It had been well over a month since Jack had slept in his attic room. It only seemed right he went to Rose's apartment, where they could be alone. Jack used to always be available day and night to Frenchie and Iris. Now, they were lucky if he had beaten them to the studio that morning. It had obviously been a taxing change on his friends. For them, it was relative to left-field.

"So, do you live with her now?" Iris asked, placing her elbows to the table.

"Not exactly..." Jack replied slowly, gripping his pencil so tightly, he was sure it'd snap.

"You're just playing in the garden, is that it?" Iris cocked an eyebrow up.

"No," Jack let out a huff, clearly exasperated, "I just spend a lot of time with her. That's all. I'm not 'playing in the garden'."

"You say you're not going anywhere and yet," Iris shook her head, "I think you're slipping right between our fingers, Jack. How long until you simply disappear? You're no stranger to a nomadic lifestyle. Are you starting to miss God's goodwill?"

Jack pressed his pencil flat to the table, eyeing Iris closely. Frenchie's eyes darted between his assistant and sister almost nervously, "I don't like the way you're talking to me, Iris."

"Well, I don't like the way you've been treating us recently," Iris shot back, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, "We used to be like the Three Muskateers. We were always holed up in this studio like our lives depended on it. Now, we're lucky to have you here for eight hours with us."

"My lifestyle may have changed but I haven't," Jack replied, sitting up straight and tense in his stool, "I still have the same fun and get the same enjoyment out of our friendship as I did before. You couldn't expect me to live in that attic forever, Iris," Iris said nothing and only stared at Jack with pursed lips. Jack shook his head, growing aggravated, "You really believed I'd be there forever, huh? That I'd never get my life back together?"

"What're you saying?" Iris asked stiffly, "Now that you've gotten your life back together, you don't need us? We were only a crutch?"

"You have no idea how humbled I am by what you two have done for me," Jack replied, his voice full of ice, "You two gave me a job, somewhere to sleep, a reason to get up in the morning. And for that, I'm forever grateful. I love my job, I love working with Frenchie. Even if I do end up moving out, so what? 'Cause I'm still going to come back every morning and paint with my soul for Frenchie," Iris lowered her eyes now and stared at the table, dropping her pencil from her fingers, "I think there are some words that have still been left unsaid, Iris."

Iris looked to him now, nearly quivering, "No. I haven't anything left to say to you. I think I've said it all. My cards on the table," She slowly leaned in towards him, "What about yours?"

...

Luckily since it was such a dreary day, the first wave of customers were not many. Rose flitted back and forth between the kitchen and diner, pausing to take breaths at the bar. After coffee and juice were distributed, she tried to drink some tea, but still, her stomach tossled violently, threatening her with more illness. She pressed her hand to her temple and sighed, tilting her head down. The ache in her bones throbbed presently and the only thing she could think about was how tremedously awful she felt. Rose was beginning to think maybe Jack was right. Maybe she _did _need medicine.

Two orders came through the window and cook chimed the bell, startling Rose from a momentary break. She set her tea down carelessly and hustled the plates while they were warm to the correct table. By the time she returned, more food was waiting for her. Once the tables were served, Rose returned to her perch behind the bar, pressing her hands against the rim of stainless steel sink. She felt cold inside, but her skin was plagued in a thin layer of sweat. She took a deep breath, willing herself to catch a grip. Rose cleared her throat and stood up straight, glancing around. The room spun a bit more after and Rose reached for the bar to steady herself.

_Come on! _Rose thought to herself, knitting her eyebrows together, _What is wrong with me!? I'm acting melodramatic, like my own mother! _Rose's stomach knotted in detest, making her wince. With shakey hands, she reached for her mug of tea and unsteadily drank. She spied Winston coming down the aisle of tables, taking a few moments to speak to some patrons. Rose turned away, using the back of her hand to clear any present sweat. The door jingled and she sighed in dismay at the thought of having to move more. She wanted to simply climb into bed and put her head under the quilt.

"Rose," She heard Winston's leather soled shoes clap against the tile as he came around the bar, "Customer. It's Mr. Calvert."

Rose's eyes grew wide at his name. She hadn't spoken to him in nearly a month. And he hadn't been at the diner in who knew how long. Her entire body began to ache pitifully. She bit down on her lip, holding in the flood of curses behind her lips. On top of being sick, why did this have to happen, too?

"Doll, did ya hear me?" Winston said from behind. Rose's head immediately snapped to look at him over her shoulder.

"Yes, Tim's here," She said as calmly as possible. Slowly, she wiped her sweaty palms down her apron, "I'm on my way."

Rose was brushing past Winston when his thick hand grabbed hold of her willowy arm, gluing her in place beside him, "What has gotten into you?" Winston asked, looking deep into her troubled green eyes, "You don't look well, Rose. Have you been sleeping?"

"I'm fine," Rose insisted, glancing to his hand clamped around her arm, "I think I'm just not one hundred percent over what I had during the holidays. That's all."

"Does this have anything to do with Tim?" Winston asked, "I haven't seen him in weeks."

Rose pursed her lips and glanced out to the diner, her head throbbing with a headache. She finally looked back to her boss and shook her head, "We aren't seeing each other anymore."

Winston released Rose's arm and she continued past him without a moments delay. She stepped into the aisle and fished her notepad out from the pocket of her apron. When she turned the familiar direction she saw him, the natural creature of habit, sitting in the booth that overlooked the wet intersection. He was looking out the window, his hair falling across his forehead. Rose thought her knees were surely going to give out as her heels echoed on the tile floor. She approached the side of his table and he slowly turned his hazels eyes on her. Rose felt all the blood in her body sink and she tried to hide the shaking of her frame.

"Rose," He said softly, "Good morning... it's good to see you."

"Good morning, Tim," She nearly croaked. Rose cleared her throat, fiddling with the pencil in her hand, "How are you?"

"Staying busy," Tim replied, lowering his eyes, "What about you?"

"The same," Rose said, trying to force a smile.

"Look..." Tim sighed and looked to her. The snow outside glinted across his glasses, "Rose, I really want to talk to you again. I think now that the holidays are over, we should really revisit what's happened. I think it's important that we discuss it."

Rose had to remind herself to breath in and out, "Maybe... sometime soon."

"Can we set a day and a time?" Tim asked, "Please, Rose. This is important to me."

"What do we need to discuss?"

Suddenly, Tim look annoyed. Rose had never seen him so much as even exasperated with her. He knit his eyebrows together now. He kept his voice low, but curt, as he spoke, "Are you kidding me right now, Rose? You _know _what we need to discuss."

"Now's not a good time-"

"When is it ever a good time for you, Rose?" Tim asked, his cheeks growing red.

Rose was about to respond when suddenly, she felt a rush of blood to her head. A blackness faded in on her and she staggered backwards, hitting her head on a table as she collapsed onto the tile floor, sending a gasp and a jump of dishes throughout the diner.

...

The first thing Rose could hear next was the soft padding of shoes against a tile floor. Her head was throbbing everywhere. She began to stir ever so slightly and that's when she felt something sliding against her arm. Rose's eyes snapped open and she sat forward, her breathing hitching up her throat. She was lying in a bed in a room painted egg-shell white. The quilt on top of her crumpled forward in her lap. Rose lifted her hand to feel a cloth bandage taped along her hairline on the right side of her forehead. Rose's heart beat ferociously in her chest as slowly, the sequence of events began to seep back into her. Rose's breathing shallowed as she leaned against the goose down pillow behind her. She gripped the quilt so hard, her knuckles turned white.

A woman in a black and white gown appeared from a curtained off area of Rose's room and she grinned upon seeing the patient awake and seemingly conscious. She turned for the door and opened it, leaning out into a hallway. A few moments later, an elderly man wearing a long white coat came into the room. Both he and the nurse came to the end of the bed.

"Mrs. Dawson, hello," The man spoke first, "I am Dr. Carson. Do you know where you are?"

"A... hospital?" Rose replied hesitently. Her entire head throbbed from her voice.

"Actually, a clinic," Dr. Carson grinned. He came to the side of her bed now, his hands tucked behind his back, "We were the closest available unit for your transport. You came by ambulance. Mrs. Dawson, do you remember the events leading up to your temporary loss in consciousness?"

"Yes," Rose nodded. She folded her hands atop the quilt, "I was at work. I am a waitress and was serving a customer when..." Rose shrugged, "Suddenly everything just went black."

Dr. Carson unwound his stethoscope from his neck and had Rose sit up. He placed it on her back and listened carefully for a moment, "Do you have a history of fainting spells, Mrs. Dawson?"

"No," Rose replied as the cool stethoscope moved across her back, causing a chill to ripple down her spine.

Dr. Carson now pressed the stethoscope above her heart, his eyebrows knitted together, "Any significant family medical history?"

"No," Rose said again, looking up to the doctor, "Relatively all healthy and normal."

Dr. Carson pulled the quilt back on Rose and inspected her legs for a moment. He then began prodding at her knees and hips. The nurse directed Rose to lay back as the doctor did a physical examination above her dress, "What does your diet primarily consist of?"

"I eat breads, cheeses, and drink milk," Rose said as he touched her abdomen, "Salad, vegetables. Sometimes fruit. Occasionally pasta."

"Any known food allergies?"

"No."

"Do you eat regularly?" Dr. Carson asked, pausing his examination and looking to her.

"At least twice a day," Rose told him.

"Hm," Dr. Carson nodded, "So the fainting spell is rather surprising to you?"

"I certainly wasn't expecting it, no," Rose said, "I've been sick recently, so maybe it's related to that."

"Can you describe what kind of illness you just had?" Dr. Carson asked, pulling a steno pad out, "Duration, side effects, anything you did to mitigate the pain?"

"Well, I think it was all the rather standard illness that strikes many during the cold season," Rose shrugged, "Nausea, chills, vertigo, no appetite. The best remedy in my opinion was bed rest."

Dr. Carson put his steno pad on the nightstand and again did a routine physical exam around Rose's stomach all the way down to the middle of her thighs. He looked to his nurse and they nodded to each other. Rose sat up now.

"Dr. Carson, what do you think it is?"

"Well, Mrs. Dawson," Dr. Carson consulted his steno pad once more and glanced to Rose's patient gown, "My medical opinion is that you're pregnant."

"What?" Rose's jaw nearly hit the floor, "You think I'm pregnant?!"

"I would say you're nearly through to the second trimester," Dr. Carson told her, "During my physical exam, I was able to feel your abdomen was hard to the touch. Go on and feel," Rose brought her shaky palm to rest where she was directed, "That's your body's natural defense to protect the baby. I would predict by my medical examination that conception was some time in November."

Rose's entire body grew cold and she trembled in the bed. She waxed and waned between being frightened yet excited. The fear, however, was the overwhelming force. Rose's stomach tossled again and she was certain she was going to be sick. The nurse brought her a bucket within a few moments.

"The nausea and vertigo you're feeling should subside as you reach later stages of your pregnancy. Your diet will need to consist of more fatty foods and for the time being, you should be on bed rest. I can provide you with an official letter for your employer," Dr. Carson told Rose as her head dangled over the bucket, bile stinging the back of her throat, "As for your head, you're going to be fine. You didn't require stitches. It'll be a nasty bruise for awhile."

Rose slowly lowered the bucket away from her as it became clear nothing was going to come out of her. She kept her eyes trained downward as she still struggled to soak in what Dr. Carson had just told her.

"Mrs. Dawson?"

She lifted her eyes now to look at the patient doctor.

"You're going to be just fine," He told her with a smile, "Whenever you're ready to go, you're free."

...

The snow was piled high on either side of the foot path as Rose walked home. The overcast of clouds had dissipated and the sky was a beautiful sherbert as twilight began to descend. Rose walked with her eyes straight forward. She had ripped the bandage off her head a block from the clinic. The bruise was black and purple, splattered across her porcelain skin like a dropped bucket of paint. She still had not come quite to terms with what she had been told. She still could not believe this entire time she simply hadn't been sick... she had been carrying Jack's baby.

Rose felt tears prick her eyes and her breath puffed out before her as she crossed the street, her boots crunching through the snow. She didn't know how she felt about the news. Part of her thought it was a wonderful idea, having a baby with Jack. But again, that splendor was extinguished by the confrontation of reality. How could she provide for a baby? How would she keep this from Tim? He was a smart man and Rose's actions would really be in the spotlight. She felt absolutely horrible about herself in that moment. She paused outside her apartment and pressed her hand to her stomach, biting down on her lip.

_Why couldn't you wait a bit to come along? Why now?_

Rose sighed and dusted her boots off as she entered the desserted lobby. Slowly she walked down the hall and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, which meant Jack had beaten her home. When she came through the door, she saw the back of Jack's head on the couch. He was facing towards the window, smoking a cigarette. He had his feet propped up on some books.

Rose closed the door and faced away from him as she heard him get up from the couch. Jack crossed towards the window and flicked his cigarette out, "Hey," He finally said, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," She replied as cooly as possible. She kept her back to him as she shrugged out of her coat, taking her time to arrange it neatly on the rack.

"Did you pick up a shift at the diner?" Jack asked, "I didn't expect to beat you home."

Rose squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils. She turned to Jack and she watched his face light up in utter shock.

"Christ, Rose," Jack came across the living room in a moments notice, "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Rose heaved a sigh, her shoulders sagging in his grip, "I fainted at work and... I hit my head against a table," She told him, rather sheepishly.

"I told you, we need to take you to a doctor," Jack said, gripping her arms tightly in his hands, "No price is too much if it means they can help you, Rose."

"I went to the doctor," Rose told him, looking to his blue eyes, "Well, actually, I _woke up _in a doctor's office."

"And?" Jack asked, rather eagerly, "What did he have to say?"

"He said I'm pregnant," Rose replied evenly, "He said I've been pregnant since November."

She felt his grasp loosen on her arms and he straightened up a bit, "Pregnant?" He slowly paced a few steps, raking his hand through his blond hair. He let out a long breath and turned to her, grinning crookedly, "I guess I'm not surprised," He finally said with a shrug.

"You're not?" Rose asked, still glued in spot beside the coat rack.

"No," Jack's smile never wavered as he crossed to Rose, wrapping his arms around her, "Because you and I get in bed together like there's no tomorrow."

Rose brought her shakey hands up to tenderly lay against his jaw and neck, "Sometimes, in my world, it feels like there is no tomorrow."

Jack looked down on Rose, the painted bruise on her forehead paining him to look at. He only held her tighter in his arms now, "It doesn't have to feel like that anymore, Rose. Things are going to be different now. We're having a baby. Just think about that."

"I hope the baby has your eyes," Rose allowed herself to smile now as Jack's warmth and security encapsulated her, "I hope the baby is wise like you. And a caring soul like you."

Jack pressed his forehead to Rose's smiling all the while, "Are you kidding me? I hope that kid comes out with a fire on top of its head."

This sent Rose into a roll of chuckles as she fell against him. They held each other tightly in that moment, allowing their trust and promises to seep through to each other. But a knock on the door drew them away from that. Jack wasn't even thinking as he released Rose and opened the door. But when he did, it felt as if he was looking head on towards a train steaming directly at him. Standing in the doorway, with a face of equal shock, was Tim.


	36. Cards on the Table

Chapter Thirty-Six

_January 8th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack had to blink rapidly to be sure he was seeing straight. Even Tim himself was still reeling by who he was confronted with. Both the men stood in an extended awkward silence, each second causing a new tensity to form in their shoulders.

"Tim," Jack finally found his voice, "w-what're you doin' here?"

"I was here to check on Rose... after her fall," He replied, rather dazed, "What are you...?" Slowly his eyes drifted past Jack to lay on Rose. Her bruise was very noticeable from where he stood, but it's not what he was fixated on. Rose's eyes were glassy, some tears falling down her cheeks. Her shoulders rose and fell heavily and she pressed her palm to her lips, disappearing onto the other side of Jack. Tim's eyes went back to Jack, who was gripping the door and standing entirely still. Tim's hazel eyes darted all over Jack's face, scrutinizing every detail.

Finally, Tim shifted the weight between his feet and said quietly, "So your Rose... is the same Rose as mine?" Jack still remained silent, his eyes slowly lowering away from Tim's, "Jack Barnes isn't your real name, is it?" Jack simply shook his head, "What is it, then?"

Jack looked to Tim with his chilling blue eyes, "It's Jack Dawson."

Tim's mouth opened, but for a moment, no sound came out. He licked his lips and glanced up and down the hallway, "I need to speak with Rose."

_My cards on the table... What about yours? _Jack swallowed roughly and nodded, opening the door wider. Hesitantly, Tim came through the door. He looked around the familar apartment for a moment before he turned to face Rose, who was gripping the back of a loveseat. Her stomach was tossing again and she thought she was going to be sick, right there, all over the carpet. Tim's eyes nearly pierced straight through her. Her heart nearly stopped beating. Jack closed the door, pressing his back against it. His eyes only hovered on Tim.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked, which threw Rose off guard. She only stared at him. Again, Tim shuffled his feet, digging his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, "It looks like you hit your head pretty good. Did the doctor give you a good outlook?"

"Yes," Rose said, breathily. She nodded rather stiffly, "I'm going to be fine."

Tim nodded and looked to the carpet for a moment, heaving a sigh, "I was coming over here to check on you... and I thought maybe we could talk," Tim looked between Jack and Rose, "But now... I guess I understand your question. What is there to discuss?"

"Tim, you have no idea how badly I wanted to tell you," The words came out faster than what she expected. Tears sprung to her eyes and she clung to the loveseat before her, "There's so much about me, so much about my past, that I could never bring myself to say to you. I didn't think it'd be fair to burden you. I... I'm horribly sorry."

"You didn't want to burden me?" Tim echoed, hurt oozing his voice, "Rose, the biggest burden was _knowing_ you had things to say to me that you wouldn't. Do you have any idea how much _that _hurts? I worked so damn hard to make you comfortable, to get you to trust me. I wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. For _us _to be happy, together."

Rose's breathing shallowed as the tears continued down her flushed face. She took a large unsteady breath, looking to Tim, "I just couldn't say it, Tim."

"Just like you couldn't tell me you loved me," Tim replied evenly, holding direct eye contact with her. He paused, glancing to Jack, "So, this is the hero, right? The one who saved the girl?"

"When I started seeing you, I had no idea he was alive," Rose said, coming from behind the loveseat. She stopped abruptly, however, as the smell of sandalwood reached her nose. Her stomach constricted tightly and she balled her hands into fists, "I... I took his name after I thought he died," Rose said behind clenched teeth, willing every fiber in her body to not allow her to throw up, "I thought he had gone down with the _Titanic_."

"You left your fiancé for him?" Tim asked, arching his eyebrows, "So, all this time I've been thinking you're haunted by your decisions with your mother and Cal, you've really been ruminating over the loss of a lover? This entire time, you couldn't tell me that you had found true love?" Tim ran his hand along his jaw, obviously bothered, "If we couldn't talk about true love... then..." Tim grew quiet, "This entire time I thought we had something, Rose. But we didn't. We never did."

Rose blinked rapidly, her eyelashes heavy with tears, "I told you, Tim," She said with a pinched voice, "It wasn't you. It was me."

"What did I do wrong?" Tim asked quietly. The grandfather clock ticked persistently behind him. Rose was quiet for awhile, clenching her nails tightly to her palms.

"Nothing," Rose finally whispered, "You have no control over the timing of things, Tim."

"And all this time..." Tim turned his head towards Jack, "Your friendly advice telling me to move on... was just so you could re-secure your relationship with Rose?"

"I didn't think we would ever see each other again," Jack said, his voice slightly husky, "The first time I went to your office... I was just... mad," Jack shrugged, "Mad about life and I wanted to see what you looked like. I never expected anything to come of it, Tim."

Tim fell silent and looked towards the open windows, listening to the cicadas hum as night time came alive. Rose's breaths were still curt and short. She struggled to even keep herself on her feet as she watched Tim in the warm candle light before her. She couldn't help but hate herself more than ever. She really still was that cowardly God-fearing little girl. She still couldn't rely on her own two feet to hold her firm or for her voice to carry. The salty tears stung her eyes as she was forced to confront and live in the skin of what she considered to be a monster.

"Our time together was special," Rose whispered, making Tim look to her, "I'll never forget any of the things you did for me, Tim. I was in a dark place and you lit a candle for me. I'm sorry... if I burnt you with that very candle."

Tim looked towards the door behind Jack fleetingly before he licked his lips, "Why didn't you think you could tell me about him?" His hazel eyes gazed towards Rose, "What stopped you?"

Rose sighed and looked towards the wintry night just beyond the open window panes. She eventually shrugged and looked back towards the ever-patient lawyer, who simply wanted his answers. Rose licked her lips, "I don't know... I didn't tell anybody in my life about him. I kept him locked away in a part of my heart that I thought I would never open again," She paused, lowering her eyes to the carpet, "All those memories... our time together. I simply put it in a capsule, doomed to only exist in my mind."

"And what about him makes you so drawn to him?" Tim asked gently, as if Jack was not there.

"The same thing that drew me to you," Rose croaked. She still was trying to catch her breath, as if she had run a mile, "Something about both of your eyes... the way you looked at me," Rose said as the sound of the Atlantic Ocean began to wash through her ears, "He didn't look at me like I was an object to be attained. You didn't look at me with lust. Neither of you undressed me with your eyes. There's only a few difference..." Rose paused, meeting Tim's eyes.

Tim nodded, the candle light bobbing in the lens of his glasses. He lowered his head for a moment and cleared his throat, "All this time I've spent with you... you've spent pining over Jack."

"That's not-"

"You were trying to convince yourself I was Jack's replacement," Tim continued, "Even though we're nothing alike, Rose."

"I was wrong," Her voice rose unsteadily and for the slightest moment, she felt a surge of blood towards her head. She paused, biting down on her lip as her entire body radiated, "I acted foolishly and I know that. I've hurt people. I've damaged things when it could have been avoided. I _know _that, Tim. If I could go back in time and change all of that, I would, without a moment of hesitation."

"What would you change?" Tim asked, holding his arms out at his side.

Rose's face was hard as stone, "I would have jumped off the _Titanic_, like I was going to. Before Jack stopped me."

Tim froze, staring at Rose. Even Jack stood up straighter now, his lips slightly parting, as together, both the men stared flabberghasted at the trembling crying woman. Rose lowered her eyes and her shoulders bucked as the sobs now ripped up her throat. She pressed her palms to her face as it grew a frustrating red. She staggered back, leaning against the arm of the loveseat as the tears came. She was simply exhausted and had no power to fight it, so she simply let it come. She hated it, though. She wanted to be strong and here she was, broken down, like an old junky-car on the side of a forgotten country road. She felt the car still had more worth than her in that moment.

"Rose," Tim's voice came through her sobs and she hiccuped as she swallowed the next, shakily raising her head to look between the two men in the room, "Please, don't cry. It breaks my heart to watch."

Rose sniffled, rubbing away more tears from swollen eyes. She sighed unevenly and closed her eyes, "Your hands. They're smooth."

"What?" Tim knit his eyebrows together. Rose now gazed across the room at him.

"I was told to pay attention to people's hands," Rose replied, her head throbbing, "Yours just didn't... electrify me, in a way. I'm sorry."

"So... this is it," Tim asked, his face covered in hurt, "We'll... never see each other again."

"We will at the diner," Rose told him, "You're still welcome to eat there."

"But we won't see each other... outside of the diner anymore?"

"Maybe on the streets," Rose shrugged and lowered her eyes, "There are so many of them weaving throughout this city. And there might be hundreds of thousands of people here, but," She paused and looked to Tim, "You still manage to bump into the same ones again and again."

Tim's eyes became glassy in the candle light and he bowed his head. In his pocket, he gripped the velvet box containing her engagement ring. He thought he would break it under the tremendous force. It felt as if his heart had been ripped into two. How did he miss all the signs? How did she go under his radar for so long? He had thought the world of Rose and just like that, it was entirely gone. Tim lifted the box from his pocket and cradled it in his hand, gazing down on it. Rose looked to the box as well, the lightheaded feeling returning. She gripped the arm of the loveseat beside her thighs. Jack racked his hand through his hair and paced a few steps towards the writing desk.

"I saw an entire lifetime ahead of us, Rose," Tim croaked, still staring at the velvet box that glittered in the candle light, "I thought, whatever it was, we could overcome it. Become one. Work as a unit together against this world," He licked his lips and a few tears fell from his eyes. It hurt Rose to see him cry, she felt it physically, "I thought we were growing something beautiful together. Something we could live off, together. I just thought... we were going to be together."

"This isn't what I intended to happen," Rose told him, "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"Misery is infectious."

Jack slowly turned his head towards Tim, who was already looking at him. Tim sighed and shook his head, his hazel eyes never leaving Jack's stare. Tim tucked the box into the pocket of his trench coat and wandered towards the door.

He looked one last time towards Rose, his eyes momentarily flickering towards Jack, "I hope you enjoy your time together," And with that, he let himself out.

...

_January 9th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

The wind and snow were howling that morning when Jack and Rose woke up, not long after dawn. Rose's entire body ached and she opted to take a bath. She closed the bathroom behind her and pressed her back to the cool wood for a moment, letting it seep into her skin. She got the water running to a warm temperature. Slowly, she undressed, glancing at herself in the mirror. She could hardly stand to look at herself. She clipped her curls atop her head and slowly sank into the warm water. She tilted her head back against the tile and sighed.

As she lay there in the water, her hands slowly gravitated towards her stomach. Rose tenderly prodded at her skin, feeling the smallest little lump in her abdomen. She couldn't believe there was life growing inside of her. Rose lifted her head, looking to her body beneath the ripples in the surface. After a moment, a small smile grew across her face. A baby. What a ridiculous blessing in disguise, she thought. She decided it could be a pivotal moment for her. A chance to really get herself together. She laughed to herself, her voice echoing in the small tile bathroom.

Jack came in the bathroom at the sound of her voice, not quite sure what to expect. But what he was confronted with relaxed him and even made him grin. There she was, though tired and feeling unwell, looked so beautiful in the bathtub. Her porcelain skin glowed in the overhead light, her hair on her head looking like a mountain of fire. She was smiling, her shoulders bobbing and rippling the water with each one of her chuckles.

"What's so funny?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the tub and pressing his back to the cool tile.

"It's really just dawned on me that we're having a baby."

Jack looked down to Rose, running his hands along her wet shoulders, "We really are. What a crazy time, huh?"

"Crazy, indeed," Rose sighed as Jack gently massaged her shoulders, "I honestly don't know what to do with myself anymore, Jack."

"What do you mean?" He knit his eyebrows together, grazing his fingers over the nape of her neck and making her shudder.

"Did you see what I did to him last night?" Rose asked, staring straight ahead at the shiney spigot, "I destroyed his heart, like a fiend. You gave me advice and I... I failed to listen and look at the even bigger mess I've created now."

"This will surely just blow all over," Jack replied optimistically, "You know Tim, big ol' time cruncher and calculator. The past will become the past soon enough, Rose."

"He's going to tell his mother about me," Rose sighed, wiping her hand across her face.

"Who cares? You never have to see any of them again," Jack shrugged.

"My mother told me one time that I left destruction in my wake," Rose tilted her head to gaze up at Jack, "She told me that right before a debutaunte ball. The same one I would meet Cal at. I ruined everything as a child and that night, I tried to do her right and still, I picked the worst one of the lot. And now, I've failed with Tim and royally hurt him. My mother was right. I am the destruction, Jack."

Jack gripped Rose's shoulders tenderly and whispered, "Don't let her be right. Don't let this destruction burn away to ashes. Get a bucket of water and a broom and clean it up, Rose. And clean it up how you want to. Not how you think someone else would," He brought his thumb up to graze her cheek, "You're not the destructive fiend you think you are."

"But I don't know what to do," Rose whispered, "I'm afraid if I speak to Tim, I'll only do more damage."

"You'll find your moment," Jack assured her, tucking his thumb under her chin. He tilted her head further up and dipped down for a gentle kiss, "But for right now, why don't you relax? I hear babies know when their mother's are stressed."

Rose sighed and smiled, pressing her damp forehead to Jack's chin. They gripped each other tenderly as both their minds wandered away to the same question: What now?


	37. Turbulence

Chapter Thirty-Seven

_January 13th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

When Rose walked into the diner just as the sun broke through the nocturnal cloud cover, Winston had to do a double-take from the bar. He came hustling around, getting into her path as she strode towards the kitchen, shrugging out of her coat. Her bruise was still dark and had even grown a green ring to it. Winston winced upon seeing it.

"Doll, you're not on the schedule this entire week! Look at that bruise, you should be at home, resting," Winston told her, holding his hands up, "I can't have the same thing happening to you."

"It won't," Rose assured him, brushing past him behind the bar and tucking her purse and coat away, "The doctor was able to help me."

"Oh, thank God," Winston sighed, coming to the edge of the bar, "What was wrong with you?"

"Turns out, I'm pregnant," Rose told him, pouring herself some tea.

"Rose, doll, congratulations," Winston came down the bar and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She wasn't expecting the warmness of his gesture and she grinned as he pulled her against the side of him, "I love babies. My wife and I always wanted one, but it never happened. I'm happy for you, doll."

Rose grinned weakly and gazed up at him, "Thanks, Winston."

"If you don't mind me asking..."

Rose was silent for a moment. She cradled her tea against her chest and licked her lips, lifting her eyes to Winston, "Tim is not the father."

...

Jack hauled a canvas in to the community room, leaning it up against the wall with three others. He put his hands on his hips and wandered down the line, inspecting each one for signs of stress, wear and tear, or discoloration. His train of thought, however, was continually intercepted by other thoughts on his mind. Jack stared very intently at the familar canvases, but still, the thought of a baby came to the forefront of his mind.

Jack paused and lowered his eyes to his feet where he shuffled them along the studio floor. A baby. Jack nearly couldn't believe it. A child of his own. He felt nearly petrified at the thought of being in charge of another life. What if he messed it up? He considered there was a fine line in child-rearing and he worried he couldn't be consistent or give them what they wanted. Jack fidgeted with the cuff of the pockets on his pants. What if something went wrong with Rose and he lost her? What if they lost the baby?

Jack shook his head and cleared his throat, directing his eyes towards the skylight now. Nothing like that was going to happen, he assured himself. Rose was healthy. She was meerly facing known side effects. Jack paced a few steps and froze, a light going off in his mind. In the next moment, his head snapped towards the stairwell leading to his attic room and he took off, his feet clunking up the steps. When he entered his room, he went directly to his wardrobe, opening the fourth drawer on the left and lifting up a carton of cigarettes. Beneath that, he pulled out a black velvet bag with gold trim and unraveled the string.

Slowly, Jack set bill after bill in front of him on the floor, muttering under his breath. His entire life's savings, his only nest egg, was sat before him. It was a little over six-hundred dollars, which was more than enough. Jack even had a few bills in his wallet that he set amongst the collection. Jack sat there, his palms planted into his knees, as he gazed down on the money, mentally sectioning off what would be used for what.

Jack collected a stack into his hand, _This is for a deposit and a month of rent, _He told himself, folding it up into its own neat stack, _Rose and I need a bigger apartment. We have to prepare now, _Jack's hand grazed against another set of bills, pulling them into his hands, _This money is for Rose's health bills. This should be more than enough to ensure her and the baby's health, _Jack nodded to himself, setting the money back down. He grabbed the next stack in the line, _And this... will be for the baby. Making sure we have everything we need before they arrive._

Jack took a deep breath and looked between his separated money. He raked his hands through his hair and gazed around his quiet room. He hadn't slept here in weeks. The space was simply going to waste when things were stacked on top of each other in the backroom. Jack eyed the money for the apartment, licking his lips pensively, _That's step number one._

...

Tim hadn't come for breakfast, but Rose tried not to notice too much. She stood at the bar, stirring her tea, as there was a loll between the breakfast crowd and the lunch crowd. The sun was beaming through the large picture windows lining the walls of the diner. She watched the people on the street scurry between the mounds of snow thwarted off the path. Rose let out a long sigh and lowered her eyes to her tea. Her eyes swirled in circles with the ginger root leaf that bobbed through her drink. She took a slow sip and paced up and down the bar, tapping her fingernails against the countertop. Her mind wandered away from her in that moment.

_I wonder what kind of life awaits this baby, _Rose thought to herself, absent mindedly placing her hand to her stomach, _Will I be able to give them what they want? What they need? Am I equipped to have a child right now? _Rose pressed her hip into the counter and took a pensive sip of her tea, _Going through with this will change my entire life as I know it. Jack's, too... _Her lips hovered just above her lipstick stained mug, _We will be eternally bonded to each other. Our love mixed together, portrayed through another human life. The possibilities are limitless as to what kind of life awaits this baby. But what kind of life awaits Jack and I with this child?_

Just then, the front door jingled and Rose was roused from her thoughts. She dabbed her lips gingerly and set her mug down, turning around to serve the first lunch of the day. She paused, however, upon seeing it was Tim. He wasn't dressed up. He wore simply a white button up tucked into black slacks with faint navy pinstripes. Tim gazed across the diner and began straight towards her, walking past his usual booth. Cooly, he seated himself in a barstool, right in front of Rose.

"Good morning," Tim said, rather huskily.

"It's the afternoon," Rose told him, doing her best to grin.

"Is it?" Tim glanced towards the clock on the wall, adjusting his glasses, "I slept in this morning and still have no concept of what time it is."

"You didn't have to work today?" Rose asked as she dipped under the bar and grabbed a mug, making his coffee right in front of him. She glanced to him between a stray curl fallen from her bun. His eyes were on her hands, watching her mix the coffee.

"No, I cancelled my appointments," Tim finally replied as Rose slid the mug towards him.

"Why did you do that?" Rose asked as she scribbled his normal order down on a ticket and stuck it through the window. Winston retrieved it from her out stretched arm and was about to protest breakfast was off the menu, when he saw Tim sitting at the bar.

Tim took his time drinking coffee, "Well, I have a standard to uphold for the State of New York," Tim told her, "And if I can't perform to that standard, then it's best to press pause on the business of law for the time being."

"Oh..." Rose said softly, clearly thrown off-guard. She lowered her eyes to the gleaming counter top before looking back to Tim, "I've thrown an entire wrench into your life, haven't I, Tim?"

Tim's hazel eyes were bright in the brilliant afternoon light, "You just have no idea how much you mean to me. I could never express it in a million years. I may be old-fashioned, slow and steady like a turtle, but my feelings for you were strong. And maybe I am stupid for thinking everything has a solution, but to me Rose, you were different. You were special."

"I should have told you about Jack," Rose said quietly, leaning her elbows on the bar. Their faces were only inches apart, "I had so many opportunities to tell you when I thought he was dead. And I had so many opportunities to tell you when I found out he was alive. My mistakes are eating me alive, Tim. This isn't how I wanted any of this to go. I don't want to be the girl who brings nothing but misery and dread. It's just not who I want to be. For awhile... I was simply scared of losing you. I did a cowardly thing, holding my tongue. But now, in the end, I think the silence is what will be my downfall. Not the things I actually needed to say."

"Do you think... if Jack and I's roles were reversed, he would be sitting here having this conversation with you instead of me?" Tim asked quietly.

Rose held her breath for a moment. The entirety of her field of view was nothing but Tim's eyes, his oliver skin, his bold brow, and his look of hurt. Rose's body shuddered for a moment and she dug her nails into her arms, "I don't know, Tim."

Tim lowered his eyes and nodded, "Part of me thinks you would still choose him."

The bell for Tim's hot and ready plate rang out and Rose stood up straight. She made no move to retrieve the food from the window. Her eyes were locked on Tim, her shoulders rising and fall, "We will never know, Tim, because that's not what's happening."

...

Frenchie eventually came in closer to lunch, citing his mother was feeling unwell. Iris had stayed home to be with her. The men got straight to work on a commissioned painting of a wealthy couples daughter, who was due to be a debutaunte in the coming year. Jack painted a base on the lower half of the canvas while Frenchie climbed the ladder and tackled the top half of the canvas.

One thing Jack liked about his line of work is that sometimes it was rather mindless. He could wander off into his thoughts while only having to remember to dip the paint brush and stroked up and down to his hearts content. Jack's mind wandered away to the only thing that had been present all morning. Rose's pregnancy. He waxed and waned between being frivously excited for a new chapter in his life and being desperately afraid that something would go wrong or not work out. He wondered what the gender of the baby would be. Whose eyes it would have. He wondered if the baby would cry a lot or simply be mesmerized by everything.

The scariest thing about having a baby is that he felt like he was going in entirely blind. Jack had no idea what to expect. In his days of travelling, he had taken bold risks or done daring things to get to where he wanted. But in that moment, he worried about how he would handle having a child. How would he know if they were crying because they were hungry? Or because they were too hot? Too cold? How would he know what the child needed?

_Can I really be a good father? _Jack asked himself as he dipped his paint brush in the white paint and pressed it to the canvas, _Do I have what it takes to be the proper partner for Rose? Can I provide a good life for her and our child? _Jack paused for the slightest moment, staring at the white canvas in front of him, _Will I have to quit art to provide for this child?_

"Jack, you've been quiet," Frenchie said, startling Jack. The man gazed up with his wide blue eyes at his boss, who dangled against the ladder, pressing his cheek to the wood, "Got a lot on your mind? I imagine you have a full plate right now."

"What do you mean by that?" Jack asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

"Balancing work and a love life," Frenchie said, "Can't be easy. Especially with a turbulent schedule, such as an artist."

"I manage just fine," Jack replied, returning to painting the canvas, "I imagine you wanted to exchange some words with me over what happened with Iris?" He paused and looked back to Frenchie. Frenchie shifted back and forth on the ladder for a moment and sighed.

"You know... you were right about the whole thing," Frenchie told him, "I shouldn't have forced you to bond with her. Now it's only caused a whole mess. She got much more invested than I expected Jack. I honestly didn't think she liked you that much. I thought it was meerly a little school yard crush, that's all. I thought it would be good for her."

Jack licked his lips and sighed, "Yeah. We fucked that one up," Jack lifted his eyes, "Problem is, I don't know how to fix it. I don't think anything is going to make her happy in the coming future."

"Why's that?" Frenchie eyed him.

"I'm officially moving out, Frenchie," Jack said, taking a few steps back from the canvas, "I still want to work for you. I'll still be here, doin' my usual thing, but it's time. I have to."

"So, just like that, after a few weeks?" Frenchie asked, rather stunned. He climbed down the ladder and stood before Jack, "You're marrying her?"

"No," Jack shook his head. He looked away for a moment and sighed, carelessly tossing his paint brush beside the can, "Frenchie, I..." He bit down on his lip for a moment and looked to his boss, who he liked to consider was a close friend, "I got Rose pregnant."

"You're having a baby?" Frenchie's eyes grew wide as saucers.

"Yes, it's completely unexpected," Jack ran his hands through his hair, "I still don't know how I feel about it, but I can tell you one thing: I'm scared, Frenchie."

"Scared?" Frenchie couldn't help but laugh, surprising Jack, "Babies are a blessing, Jack! New life is so comforting. I'm happy for you, brother!"

"You are? But, what about-"

Frenchie waved his hand, silencing Jack, "You can't force love, Jack. I know that. And I'm sorry for the mess I've brought about. We _will _fix this, I promise. I won't let anything compromise the joy you're supposed to be experiencing during this time."

"Frenchie," Jack said, rather breathily. His eyes became glassy and he sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck, "I don't know what to say. Just... thank you, for understanding. It's just all happened so fast and-"

"Jack," Frenchie set his hand on Jack's shoulder, making him pause, "Everything is going to be alright."


	38. Promises

Chapter Thirty-Eight

_January 13th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Frenchie and Jack decided to take a break from painting and they went for a walk in the neighborhood bordering on the edge of the industrial sector, in search of an apartment for lease. Jack wanted at least three bedrooms and a study of some sort. He knew if he shopped smart, he could get a good bang for his buck. It had to have big open windows, because that's what Rose preferred. He hoped he could find some place with a large garden surrounding it, so she could look out the windows and see blooming plants. There were many things Jack wanted to give her and he didn't care what it took to acheive those things for her.

"This is a good neighborhood," Frenchie said, pointing to a street breaking off right from the main road. Three more blocks would have the men at Frenchie's house, "This is where my aunt lived when she moved to be closer to us at the end of her life," Frenchie told Jack as they began down a winding curve of sidewalk, "Very quiet little suburb."

Distantly windchimes rung out as Jack and Frenchie walked past the porches of many townhomes fit tightly beside each other. They had extravagant molding and plaster gravings along the door frames and windows. Jack watched as a child on a bike wheeled by, whacking a stick against their spokes. Up on one of the porches, an older woman had several quilts hung out over the railing, which she was whacking. She gave the men a wave as they walked past.

"Well, I like the neighborhood," Jack said, digging his hands into his pockets, "Only thing is; can I afford it?"

"Look, that one is for rent," Frenchie pointed down the street, "Number 311 right there. The white one with the hunter green trim," Jack and Frenchie slowly approached the empty porch and stepped up towards the door, that had a for rent sign tacked to it.

"Four bedroom, a study, a sun room, two and a half bathrooms," Jack whistled, "This place sounds huge, Frenchie."

"Perfect for a growing family," Frenchie nodded, "It says the deposit is twenty dollars and the monthly rent is one-hundred and twenty-five," Frenchie stared at the sign for a moment before tearing his eyes away and looking to Jack, "You can afford that. I'll be sure you can."

Jack snorted, "We'll have to paint like the wind," Jack reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills, "I have enough for the deposit and two months rent, right here. That will be secure enough for now. Let's walk back to the corner market and use the phone to call the number. I want to see the inside."

...

The afternoon crowd was no where near as busy as that morning. Rose found plenty of moments to pause between her work and make sure she nibbled on something or drank something. Once it finally reached four o'clock, Rose peeled her apron off and shrugged her coat on, saying goodbye to Winston who was operating the register.

Rose took in a deep breath upon stepping out into the fresh winter day. She wanted nothing more than to go home, take her shoes off, and get off her feet. They ached horribly and felt rather tight in her shoes. She tied the sash to her peacoat and began on her a way, a brisk wind running against the side of her.

She glanced to the sky which was patchy with clouds. She hoped the snow would stop soon. Rose craved to feel the warm summer sun on her skin. She ached to feel heat in her body. She had found it difficult recently to fight the chill off. Rose rubbed her hands together, as she had forgotten her gloves on the kitchen counter that morning. Her mind was beginning to wander towards her pantry when a hand gripped her arm, turning her around suddenly.

She came face to face with Tim. He gripped her tenderly, leading her towards an alleyway right off the foot path. Rose sighed, pressing her back to the grimey wall. As she looked at them, she suffered a slight moment of déjá vu. She blinked rapidly, holding her gaze with Tim.

"Rose, I..." He fell at a loss of words and shook his head. He then took a step closer to her, "I'm having a really hard time accepting that we're just not going to be together anymore. I don't like this. I don't like this at all," He brought his leather gloved hand up, tenderly stroking her cheek, "I don't care what happened in your past, Rose. I don't care about those fears that drove you to do what you did. I love you for who you are."

"Tim," Rose's voice cracked and she swallowed roughly, "I'm sorry."

Tim pressed his palms flat to the wall on either side of Rose, gazing down on her, "I still love you. I still don't want to go anywhere. I still want to be with you."

"We can't be," Rose whispered, "I don't love you, Tim."

Tim stared at her for a moment before his lips barely moved, "Did you ever love me?"

Rose gazed deep into his eyes and slowly shook her head, "I don't know," She whispered.

"I knew from the moment I saw you, that I loved you," Tim told her and she briefly got a whiff of whiskey on his breath. Her eyes darted between his, seeing how dreadfully sad he was. Rose remained pinned between his arms beneath his gaze. Even when drunk he was not rash or rough. He was still his normal, calculated, and polite-self, "I've never felt the same about anyone before," Tim continued, his face coming closer, "Rose, I just don't know how to spell it out to you."

"You've made it perfectly clear," Rose replied softly, "I simply don't reciprocate."

"I can't just forget about you," Tim told her, reaching towards her flushed cheek again, "I can't do it. You can't ask me to, either. You have made such an impact on me, Rose."

"Please, don't make this any harder than it has to be," Rose told him with wet eyes, "I've already done you wrong, Tim. I don't want to do it again. I care about you."

"What's bound you to Jack?" Tim asked, his breath puffing out before him.

Rose stared deep in his eyes, shuddering profusely within her jacket, "I love him, Tim."

Tim leaned forward, pressing his lips to Rose's. He brought his hand up, gently grazing her neck. Rose jolted back, however, ending the kiss far too soon. She looked straight into his hazel eyes, her face as hard as stone.

"No more of this, Tim," Rose said, tilting her head back against the brick wall, "We're only to interact at the diner, as friends. What we had..." She lowered her eyes, "Can't be had anymore."

Tim kept his eyes trained downwards for a few moments before he finally croaked, "I don't know how long I can stay away from you for. Last time, I barely made it to a month. Sooner or later, I'm going to stop by your apartment, at least just to say hello. I can't lose you, Rose."

"Please, don't tell me that," Rose sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Tim fished the velvet box from his pocket and held it out towards Rose, opening it up. The large diamond atop gleamed from the overhead afternoon light. She stared at it intently, squinting against the glowing silver band. She lifted her eyes to look at Tim.

"You never would want to be a Calvert?" He whispered.

Stiffly, Rose shook her head, "I've been a Dawson for the past two years. It's all I'll ever be, Tim."

Tim snapped the box shut and brought it to his chin for a moment, heaving a deep sigh, "Goodbye's have never been easy for me, Rose."

"I don't think they're easy for anybody," She told him with a strained throat, "But it's what has to be done. Things could have been different, but they weren't. I wish nothing but the best for you, Tim."

"Promise me one thing," Tim whispered, stepping closer to Rose, "Please, be happy. If at any moment you find yourself not happy... you know where to find me."

Rose looked at him for a moment before she finally nodded, agreeing to his terms. Tim nodded back and gazed around the alley for a moment before he turned, stepping onto the street and disappearing. The moment he did, Rose released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She remained pressed up against the brick wall, willing herself to catch her breath. She turned in the next moment, however, and threw up all over the snow sludged up against a dumpster.

...

"... My favorite part about this house is the french doors and floor to ceiling windows in the living space," The relator told Jack and Frenchie. He brushed the men through the foyer, taking them towards the living room that was directly ahead of the entrance beneath an archway, "The living room is sunken, too. The perfect break-up for comfy furniture and decor along the edge of the room," The relator continued. He walked to the right of the living space, pressing his hand to a gleaming bannister, "The living room is equipped with a marble fireplace. A matching one can be found in the master bedroom directly above us."

Jack took his time striding across the plush cream carpet. His hands were dug into his pockets as he approached the french doors and gazed out on the back patio and decently sized yard, that had one tall pine tree in it. He then gazed through an archway on the other side of the marble fireplace to see a spacious matching kitchen with a large island. Jack turned around in the room a few times and glanced to the confident relator.

"One twenty-five a month?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir," The relator nodded, "Quite a steal, I might add."

Jack nodded, running his tongue along the front of his teeth. He turned back to the large windows overlooking the private backward. He watched the cedar tree rustle in the wind, knocking some snow down its burly branches bursting with bristles. He tried, in that moment, to imagine summer time in the home. Having the french doors open, his art easel set up on the porch. They could build a sandbox or a jungle gym set for the baby. Garden plots for Rose to tend to. There was plenty of space.

Jack looked over his shoulder to the patiently awaiting relator, "I'll take it."

...

When Rose went through the door of her apartment, she let out a long winded sigh, relishing in the silence. She shut the door and removed her coat. She then immediately kicked her heels off and scrunched her toes up in the carpet. She went directly to the couch, laying out across and clutching a throw pillow to her chest.

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, her hand resting over her stomach. Her stomach wasn't much different. Part of her was still mystified that there could actually be a child in there, blossoming inside of her. She still felt like it hadn't sunk in. She hadn't completely absorbed the fact that come the end of summer, she would have an itty-bitty version of Jack in her arms.

_You have no idea what it took to create you, little one... _Rose thought to herself, her eyelids fluttering at the sound of a distant car horn, _You've not a clue the roads your father and I had to travel to give you life, _Gently, her fingers ran back and forth over her stomach, _I promise, little one, to love you every day. To cherish every moment together. Boy or girl, I promise to give you the same equal chance. I will nurture you, dote on you, spoil you as much as I can. I'll do everything my mother did differently. I promise you can trust me, lean on me; I will always be your mother, _She squeezed her eyes tightly, feeling the tears burn beneath her eye lids, _And your father will love you, too. He will always be your father. We'll take care of you. We'll love you. I promise._

Rose took her moment of rest to reflect on her childhood. The very thought soured her mood. She remembered her childhood as bleak, lonesome, and plagued in dejection. Rose had constantly been put down, shushed, and seated while everyone else stood. She had been weak and complied to their demands. Rose wished she had had a backbone. She wished the first sixteen years of her life hadn't been driven by dread and fear. But in that moment, she was determined to turn that all around. She decided she couldn't be sorry anymore, as she had been sorry her entire life.

_I will not expose you to a dreary existence such as that, _Rose continued in her mind, pressing her palm flat to her belly, _I won't let you see the destruction the world has to offer. I only want you to feel loved and accepted. You can be anything you want in this world, little one. The sky is the limit. I will do nothing but lift you up. It's all I can do, as your mother, I owe you that at the very least._

Rose opened her eyes and stared directly at the ceiling. She listened to the ticking of the grandfather clock as she lay there, simply contemplating. Her curls dangled off the edge of the pillow as she readjusted her grip on the one on top of her. She scrunched and stretched her feet as they still throbbed from the long day of standing on them.

_I'll be ready for you, little one, _Rose thought, adjusting her head on her pillow, _Whenever you're ready to come into this world, your father and I will be waiting with open arms._

...

Jack and Frenchie returned to the art studio in the mid-afternoon. Iris was at the community table, but a blank sheet had been left in front of her. She had obviously been there awhile and seemed rather bored, tapping her pencil against the table. Jack and Frenchie came in, grinning and talking amongst each other. Iris looked to Jack, who had a bundle of papers in his arms. When the men entered and saw Iris, their chattering quieted down and they came to the table silently.

"How is Momma?" Frenchie asked, setting his palms to the dirty surface.

"She was laying down to take a nap earlier," Iris replied, training her eyes downward, "So I figured I'd leave her to a quiet house. Where have you two been?" She asked, looking between them.

Frenchie looked to Jack for a moment before licking his lips and meeting his sister's eyes, "Jack purchased his own apartment today. He will be officially moving at the beginning of February."

Iris sat up straight now, gazing towards Jack, "You're... moving out?"

"Yeah, it's just a few blocks from your place," Jack told her, shuffling the application papers in his hands, "I'm still going to be working here as normal. The good news is we get that attic space back so we can put all the useless and worthless junk back up there. Would really help give the back room some space."

"Yeah..." Iris nodded, her eyes lowering again. In the next moment, tears sprung to her eyes and she scraped off her stool and bounded up the stairs leading to the attic. Jack sighed, bowing his head and lightly touching his temples. Frenchie crossed his arms over his chest.

"I knew she wasn't going to respond well to that," Jack muttered. He shuffled his feet for a moment and sighed again, "I'll go talk to her. I better just tell her everything now."

As Jack brushed past Frenchie, his boss grasped his arm, making Jack look to him, "Please, be gentle, Jack. Tell her carefully. Slowly. Be weary of her heart."

"I can't control how she is going to feel," Jack told Frenchie, "She can feel and react anyway she wants. I have a feeling any way I say it will tear her heart to shreds."

Frenchie released Jack's arm and turned to gaze towards the stairwell as Jack crossed and began up. When he made it to the door of the attic room, he saw the hatch to the roof was open and a drawer on his wardrobe had been rifled through. Jack sighed and put his hands in his pockets, slowly meandering towards the short rickety ladder leading to the top of the building. When he popped his head up, he saw Iris straight ahead. She was sitting on the ledge of the roof, hugging her knees. A cigarette was in her hands. Jack emerged fully onto the roof, approaching her slowly.

"So," Jack gazed towards the sky, squinting against the sunlight, "you're smoking now?"

Iris looked to him for a moment, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette and taking another drag, "Only when I feel like it."

Jack kicked a rock and watched it bound across the cement top of the building, "Can I bum one off of you?"

"They're yours, anyway," Iris held the crumpled pack out to him, tossing him a lighter along with it, "It seems you've forgotten all about them in your old room."

"Yeah," Jack replied passively, protecting the flame of his lighter as the end of the cigarette grew to be cherried, "I have quite a few relics in that room. I enjoyed my time living there."

"Then why do you have to move out?" Iris asked, the wind whipping her hair over her shoulder.

Jack held his cigarette loosely between his lips and sagged his shoulders for a moment. He seated himself on the edge beside Iris, dangling his feet over the street below. Slowly, he removed his cigarette, exhaling all the smoke from his lungs, "The world is bigger than an attic, Iris," He said, gazing out towards the distant jagged skyline of New York City, "My life has outgrown that attic room," He took a drag of his cigarette, looking to her, "That year I spent in the attic... that's the longest I've ever stayed in one place in the last ten years."

"The studio isn't the same when you're not here," Iris said, lowering her cigarette, "There's an energy missing. You make everything better, Jack."

"But I'm not going anywhere," Jack replied, "I'm going to be in the same neighborhood as you, walkin' to the same studio as you every morning. Nothing is going to change."

"It won't be like before," Iris shook her head, sticking her cigarette between her ruby red lips, "It was always so wonderful coming into the studio early on a busy morning only to find you groggy, never the morning person, sitting bedraggled and drinking coffee at the table," Iris lowered her eyes, holding the cigarette unsteadily between her fingers, "I can't come to the studio at night when I need someone... because nobody will be here. Our late night talks are over. It's just... it's all ending much too fast, Jack. Does it really have to be this way?"

"Nothing good can last forever," Jack told her, watching a horse drawn cart wheel past below them, "When life throws a curve ball, you adapt. You take what you can get. It has to be this way, Iris."

"But why?" Iris asked, leaning forward, "All this for a girl you knew for three days, thought was dead, and then reconnected with barely twelve weeks ago? Don't you think you're being rash? Have you really thought everything out, Jack?"

"I've thought out everything I can," Jack replied, "And now, I have to do what's best for me. I have to do what's right for Rose."

"Why do you act so obligated to her?" Iris flicked her cigarette off the edge of the building.

Jack stared off into the distance for a moment and inspected his cigarette before also throwing it out into the wind. He gripped the edge of the concrete ledge, his knuckles turning white. He heaved a sigh, not even daring to meet her eyes, "Iris... I'm going to be a father."

Iris was silent for an extended period before taking a curt breath, "You got her pregnant?"

Jack nodded, his lips pursed, "We'll have a baby by August at the latest."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Jack looked to her.

A silence waned on for quite some time. It didn't bother Jack, though. He continued to watch over the tops of buildings, occasionally spotting birds flying by. He soaked in the sounds surrounding him. Tires crunching through snow and gravel, the sound of the distant river. Iris, however, was ruminating within her mind, stewing over every word exchanged.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" Iris asked suddenly. He glanced to her, watching the wind carry her wavy blonde hair. He squinted in the brilliant afternoon light, looking nearly every direction.

"I don't care," He finally said, looking to his folded hands, "As long as it's healthy."

Iris looked down to her boots dangling over the edge of the building before turning her bright blue eyes on Jack, "I know you're going to be a good father, Jack," She paused for a moment and hesitated, "And I know you love Rose very much."

Jack nodded and gazed back towards New York City, choosing to say nothing. Only the whistle of the winter breeze could be heard between them as they sat in a comfortable silence.


	39. What's Right

Chapter Thirty-Nine

_January 15th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack decided to take Rose to see the townhouse he had rented for them. He noticed she hadn't been feeling particularly well recently and was hopeful to fix the gloomy clouds gathering overhead. Jack thought that seeing their new space, seeing all the opportunities they had, would make her begin to feel good again about the future and come to terms with her past decisions. They walked hand in hand down the gentle curving slope of the sidewalk, the sound of the familiar windchimes reaching Jack's ears. He glanced to Rose, who was absorbing the approaching neighborhood. He grinned and looked forward, determined this would provide a new light in her life.

"Right here, number 311," Jack said, pointing towards the house. The relator had given Jack a key so they could slowly move themselves in. Jack and Rose paused on the porch and he held the gleaming brass key in his palm between them. His free hand reached for her's, squeezing it tenderly, "I think seeing the space I picked for us is really going to get you excited."

"Excited for what?" Rose asked softly, looking towards Jack. He observed how tired she seemed. It almost hurt his heart to see no flame in her green eyes.

Jack brought his hand up and grazed her cheek, "The future, Rose. Our future," He tucked the key back in his pocket and placed his hand against the side of her belly, "The future of our child."

Jack opened the front door for Rose and she slowly wandered through. Her mouth was left agape as she spun around the foyer and entered the large and brightly lit living space. She ran her slender fingers along the mantle of the fireplace and slowly walked towards the french doors, gazing out towards the melting snow in the backyard. She meandered into the kitchen, rounding the island and stopping in front of the deep ceramic sink. Jack appeared in the archway, crossing his arms over his chest and simply observing Rose.

Rose rest her hands against the edge of the sink, her eyes slowly inching around the room. She tried to imagine a different time in that moment. She tried to think what the room would look like on a summer evening. Rose turned her head towards the space reserved for a kitchen table, surrounded by windows. She imagined an evening sunset, orange and pink, bleeding through the windows, bathing the walls. She imagined dinner had just been had, full of laughs and story telling. Rose looked towards the sink, imagining suddy water and bobbing dishes, a blessing that the family was fortunate enough to share another meal together.

But in the next moment, Rose was in tears, pressing her palms to her flushed cheeks. Jack was at her side with the sighting of the first salty tears, wrapping his arms around her slender body. He cradled her against him, pressing his chin against her head. She hiccupped slightly as she basked in the warmth that radiated off of Jack's body.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked gently.

Rose sighed and closed her eyes for a few moments. She parted from Jack and walked towards the bay window. She leaned against the wood casting of the windows, her slender fingers grazing the cold glass. She watched the snow before turning her stinging wet eyes towards Jack.

"I'm scared," She told him, shrugging.

"Of what?" He asked, pressing his hip against the kitchen island.

Rose sighed, tilting her head back against the window. The cool glass stung the nape of her neck, causing goosebumps to pucker across her skin, "Jack, I still don't know how I feel about being pregnant. I... I don't know if I can be a good mother."

"That's crazy, Rose-"

"But that's not the worst thing," Rose's black lacy flats padded on the tile floor, scuffing across the grout, "I'm just an eighteen year old pregnant girl, Jack. Society will turn their back on me. My entire world as I know it is changing. I... I just feel like the carpets been yanked out from underneath me and there was absolutely no flooring beneath it to ever find my balance again."

Jack put his hands in his pockets and slowly strolled into the empty space beside Rose. He glanced upwards to the moldings dividing the ceiling from the wall and fleetingly gazed out the window before looking to Rose, "Things are going to work out," Was all he said with a simple flippant shrug.

"But how do you know?" Rose asked, clearly distressed, "People could find out, Jack. And the world I come from... that's such a major thing, being pregnant before getting married. I've told the only supportive person in my life; my boss, Winston. But other than that, Jack, there will be no more accepting smiles or congratulations. It will only be pursed lips, arched eyebrows, and worst of all, silence."

"That's not how it will be at all," Jack told her with bright blue eyes. He pressed his hands to her shoulders, lifted his eyebrows, and gazed straight into her wet eyes, "Things _are _going to work out, Rose. We'll get married before the baby gets here, but right now, let's focus on making a home for the baby before it comes. You and me have faced harder things than this. To me, Rose, this is the easy part. This is the part that makes the most sense, that feels the most natural," He lowered his hands to her waist, "I know everything is going to work out."

A weak smile mustered across Rose's lips but still, tears continued to gleam in her eyes. Jack lifted her hands, gently pecking at her knuckles. Jack's face lit up, tightening his grip on her, "You haven't seen the best part of the house, yet. Come on," He tugged her wrist and towed her from the kitchen and up the stairs to the right of the entrance. She glanced down the hallway as he took her to the first room, across from the stairs, "This is the master bedroom," He told her, pushing the door open. Rose stepped in and her grin became even bigger.

The room had a slanted ceiling with one large sturdy oak rafter. The bedroom was large and spacious with a walk in closet. Beside that door was the bathroom, with a porcelain clawfoot tub and a separate shower. Rose looked towards the sparkling marble fireplace as she walked past. She gripped the brass door handles of the french doors on the wall opposite of the entrance. When she opened them, she was welcomed by a sharp gust of wind. Rose slowly stepped out onto the spacious balcony. It was snowing again and flakes were caught in her curls and eyelashes. Rose approached the railing and gripped it, gazing down on the backyard.

"Just imagine," Jack appeared beside her, smiling all the while, "it's summer time, it's warm. You could lounge out here and read a book, have a glass of lemonade. You can get up and look down into the yard and see our child playing, having the time of their life beneath the sun," Jack nodded, his breath puffing out before him, "That's why I like it so much. It's a cul-de-sac, there's a yard. It's plenty of space for a child to explore and be outside. It's important to me, Rose, that they get that chance, to be a kid. Not cooped up inside all day."

Rose felt warm inside as she listened to Jack speak about the future of their baby. It made her feel different, tingly, in a way. She lifted her hand to rest against her stomach, lowering her eyes as Jack continued to talk.

"There's also a modest office. It's plenty of room for you to have half for your intersts and for me to have room to paint," Jack said, looking to Rose, "We have room for the baby and a guest room, too. Or... maybe another child," Jack shrugged sheepishly.

"You see a future here?" Rose lifted her eyes to meet his.

"I do, yes," Jack told her. He was quiet for a moment, slowly licking his lips, "Do you?"

Rose smiled, "Yes. I think I do."

Jack grinned, too, making Rose's heart leap in her chest. He dipped down and gently pressed his lips to her as the snow fell around them. They parted, but their faces hovered close together, "I'm tellin' you, Rose," He whispered, "Everything's going to be alright."

Rose's fingers grazed his cool cheek, "I know."

...

_January 20th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose heaved a sigh as she exited her apartment and took a few short steps to apartment 101 directly across the hall. She paused for a moment and smoothed her dress, glancing up and down the hallway. She gnawed on her lip and stalled for only a moment more before she knocked curtly on the door. For a moment, she prayed nobody was home. She hoped, for once, not a single member of the household was to be found. But after a few beats, there was movement on the other side of the door and she exhaled, her shoulders nearly slumping. Rose could hear muffled voices and after a moment, the jangling of the locks on the door. It opened a gap and Suzette stuck her head into view. When she saw it was Rose, she opened the door completely. Rose glanced behind Suzette to see Cat and Liliana on the couches beside the fireplace. Liliana was on her feet the moment she saw Rose.

"Hi, Mrs. Dawson," Suzette greeted warmly, "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yes, fine," Rose nodded politely, "I was wondering if your father was available?"

"Sure, come on in," Suzette stepped aside, "I'll fetch him. He's in the study."

"Thank you," Rose said softly, stepping through the door. Suzette closed it and disappeared around the corner. Rose remained in the foyer, her hands folded in front of her. Liliana bounded from the living room.

"Hi, Rose!" She said, her black clip-on shoes clacking on the tile, "What're you doing here?"

"I just needed to speak with your father," Rose told her, rather reserved.

"Did your hot water go out, too?" Liliana asked.

"No, nothing like that," Rose shook her head.

"Hey, is your friend Jack still in town?" Liliana put her hands on her hips, "I wanted to take him to see the Statue of Liberty. It should be on every American's bucket list."

Rose looked to Liliana, "He's still here, but rather busy."

"Will he be staying long?" Liliana asked, rather eagerly.

"Why?" Rose furrowed her brow.

Liliana blushed madly in the next moment, "I just thought it'd be the right thing to do to show a new person around the amazing New York City, that's all."

Cat brushed past, heading towards the kitchen with a book tucked under her arm. She paused, however, looking to Rose with her dark eyes, "No, Liliana fancies a perfect stranger. She's eager to jump straight into a man's arms."

"I am not," Liliana shot back, looking towards her sister with a scrunched up face.

"Well, sounds like you don't agree with what you wrote in your diary," Cat shrugged and continued towards the kitchen, not even throwing her sister another look.

Liliana crossed her arms over her chest, "Hmph... bitch."

Rose was opening her mouth to speak when Suzette reappeared with Edgar at her side. The old man grinned, lowering his bifocals from their perch on his thick nose, "Ms. Dawson, always a pleasure. I hope you've been well, sweetheart," He gripped her hand warmly, "Please, come sit down and we can chat."

He whisked her completely into the living room. She gingerly seated herself, crossing her legs at the ankle. Liliana sat next to Rose, imitating her posture in hopes of looking more like a lady. Rose folded her hands into her lap and Liliana copied. Edgar made himself comfortable, propping a throw pillow against his lower back. Suzette approached the back of the couch and cleared her throat, "Liliana, let's get dinner started in the kitchen and leave Daddy and Ms. Dawson to chat."

"I'll catch up," Liliana replied, "I'd like to spend time with Rose."

"Now may not be the best-"

"It's okay, Suzette," Edgar grinned up towards his daughter, "It'll help her learn the way of business, anyway," He threw a playful wink towards Rose and she grinned politely. Suzette sighed and left to start dinner. Edgar cleared his throat and sunk into the couch cushions, "Now, what would you like to discuss, Ms. Dawson?"

"Well," Rose let out a long sigh, twisting her fingers together, "this isn't easy to do, but, I'm here to inform you I'll be vacating my apartment by the beginning of February. I'm... I'm moving. But I'd just like to say, Edgar, you've been a wonderfully fair landlord and I appreciate everything you've done for me. It just looks like it's my time to move on. I hope you understand."

Liliana nearly fell out of her chair in shock. Edgar himself even seem surprised, but he didn't twitch much, "I must say, Ms. Dawson, I certainly wasn't expecting you to tell me that."

"Where are you going?" Liliana surged forward, gripping Rose's wrist nervously, "Are you leaving New York City?"

"No, I'm just moving," Rose replied, "I did not mean to shock you two. It's time for me to go, though. I thought I'd inform you so you could find a new tenant."

"Well," Edgar smiled and sat forward, extending his hand, "Ms. Dawson, you've been a truly wonderful tenant. You're young, you have your whole life ahead of you. I suppose it shouldn't really be a shock to me. I wish you only the best, young lady. Please, let me know if there's anything more I can do for you."

Rose gripped his hand tenderly, "Thank you, Edgar," She then stood and smoothed her dress again, glancing subconsciously towards her stomach. She looked between the distressed Liliana and content Edgar before she grinned and began out the door. As she was shutting the door behind her, Liliana stuck her shiny buckle shoes between it and the threshold, making Rose look back towards her. Liliana squeezed through the gap in the door, shutting it completely.

"Rose, where are you moving to?" She asked, folding her hands together and pressing them against her chest, "I hate to think we'd never talk or see each other anymore. Surely there's a forwarding addrss I can contact you by."

"I don't know the proper address," Rose told her, shifting her feet back and forth, "I promise it won't be like that, Liliana."

"Why must you move? What can you do somewhere else that you can't do here, living across the hall from me?" She stuck her lower lip out, her mood becoming pouty.

Rose sighed, lowering her eyes for a moment, "A lot, Liliana. There's a lot of things that require me to move."

"Are you marrying Tim?"

Rose looked to Liliana, only staring. Her fingernails dug at her palms for a moment before she pursed her lips and shook her head, "No. I'm not. I'm moving for myself, Liliana."

Liliana's arms slowly fell by her side, long and lanky, complimenting to her willowy figure, "You and Tim broke up, didn't you?"

"It doesn't matter," Rose crossed to her door, gripping the brass knob beneath her slender fingers, "All that matters now, Liliana, is what I can do for myself."


	40. Irreplaceable

Chapter Forty

_January 28th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

It was a fresh winter day. The sky was a bright ceruluean without a cloud to be seen. Rose's apartment had all the windows open, as normal. The cream curtains tranquilly drifted in the fresh breeze coming into the apartment. Rose was busy dropping book after book into boxes. She hoisted one upwards, carrying it to stack it by the front door. She let out a long sigh, rubbing her lower back as she turned around the room, seeing her apartment in mayhem.

Jack appeared from the back room, carrying a box of Rose's dresses. He looked to her and clucked his tongue as he effortlessly lifted the box to top the stack, "Hey, you should be doing your closet. Why are you doing the heavy stuff?"

"My books have a particular order," Rose told him, turning back to the bookshelves that weren't even half-way packed up, "That way, when I'm unpacking them, I can put them back in order."

"You're telling me _all _of these books have a meaningful placement on the shelf?" Jack arched his eyebrows, "I thought you just shoe horned them wherever you could."

"No, no, there's an order," Rose insisted, crossing back to her space and sliding an empty box closer to her, "I can handle it, really, Jack," She looked over her shoulder towards him, her curls spilling down her back. Rose held a book in her hand and she grinned, running her fingers along the indention of where the title was, "Let me do as much as I can before I can't."

"You're not going to be completely indisposed," Jack joined her at the bookshelf, handing her books that she then situated into the box. She crouched down and looked back up at him, "There are days you may feel sick, may feel huge, but you'll still be able to function, I promise."

"I just keep thinking about the horror stories I heard from my mother and her friends," Rose shuddered at the thought, feeling a warm sensation as she recalled the sun bleeding into the tea room of her childhood home, where she was forced to partake with the women of the society, "My mother herself suffered a truly awful pregnancy with me. It's probably why she never had another."

"Well, like the doctor said," Jack shrugged, clustering three books into his arms and handing them down to Rose, "the sickness should subside further into your pregnancy," He grinned at her, pausing from clearing the bookshelf, "Besides, you're stronger than those women."

Rose laughed airly, "Or just more reckless."

Jack knelt down beside Rose, gazing at her from across the box, "Trust me when I say you're strong. You've put up with more than any person should have in eighteen years, Rose," He smiled in the next moment, gripping the side of the box, "Speakin' of which, you're about to be nineteen. Fresh year, fresh start, right?"

Rose grinned weakly, "Yes... I almost forgot."

"And just imagine," Jack grinned, "this year, we will celebrate your birthday in our new home."

"Yes, speaking of which," Rose stood up and gazed around the room for a moment, "We're not going to have nearly enough furniture. The living room is bigger than mine."

"Yeah, we'll have to piece it together slowly," Jack rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly. He wrapped his around Rose's waist, "It's okay. By the time the baby is here, I'm sure we will have everything that we need."

"You sound so sure," Rose looked to him, "Makes me think you've done this with a woman before."

Jack burst out into a chuckle, his shoulders bobbing and making her body quake against the side of his. He looked down at Rose, pecking her on the forehead, "Guess you'll never know. Suppose you'll just have to trust me, huh?"

"I guess so," Rose said with a cheeky-knowing grin.

"You're stuck with me now, no going back!" Jack enveloped Rose into his arms and swung her around. She giggled ferociously as he purposefully tipped over, laying Rose across the couch and falling ontop of her. Rose's head sunk into the couch cushion, her curls splayed around her. Their fingers absent mindedly toyed with each other as he gazed down on her beautiful face that glowed in the afternoon light. He took in a deep breath and whispered, "I don't think you know how excited I am about the future, Rose."

"Why are you so excited?" She asked softly, tilting her head.

Jack reached up with his free hand, tenderly stroking some curls from the frame of her face, "This time last year, I had just begun working for Frenchie and livin' in his attic," Jack told her, his touch igniting a flame across her skin, "I was an absolute mess. Thinking you were dead... thinking it was my fault-"

"It never would have been your fault," Rose whispered, furrowing her brow and gently grazing his jaw.

"That's what it felt like," Jack replied, "All I had to remember you by was a newspaper clipping. It was your obituary... but it had the nicest photo of you. I would stare at it for hours, just thinking about you. To be starting the new year with _you _and a baby on the way... it's just so wildly different, it's exhilerating. I don't know. I can't explain it. But I do know, I'm excited, Rose."

"In a way, it is a dream come true," Rose replied, her lips barely moving, as her green eyes gazed into Jack's, "But... I'm still scared, Jack. About going through with this- giving _birth _to this baby. What if I can't do it?"

"You can," Jack told her seriously, his hand resting on her collarbone and his face hovering inches above her's, "and you will. I'll make sure you're good and comfortable. We can even hire someone to help us. I promise everything will be taken care of," His calloused fingers met the tip of her jaw, making her entire body radiate beneath his, "It's okay to be scared, Rose," He whispered, his face coming closer to her's, "It's something we've never done before. It's a new path and it's alright to be scared. But please, don't think something bad will happen. I won't let it," His palm now cupped her cheek and she melted into the touch, "You and this baby are my entire world, I swear."

Rose lifted her head, gently meeting his lips. The kiss was slow, but promising. When their lips parted, Rose gripped his neck, staring into those familiar blue eyes. The blue eyes that nearly matched the sky in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. His blue eyes that promised comfort, protection; everything she desired, "I have to ask..."

"Ask away," He whispered, rather breathlessly, as he still clung to the feeling of her lips.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?"

Jack smirked, lowering his eyes for a moment, his blond hair tossling across his forehead. He lifted his bright eyes and pressed his hand to the side of her stomach, "I don't care," He shook his head, his smile never wavering, "As long as it's healthy, I really don't care, Rose. Boy or girl. The choice isn't really up to us, anyway, is it?"

Rose giggled, resting her head back against the couch cushions. She also gently brushed over her stomach, which wasn't showing much of a sign besides the smallest lump, "Well, I hope it's a little boy that looks like you."

Jack cocked a bold brow up and laughed, "Just for that, I hope it's a little girl that looks like you, instead," The couple shared a laugh, relishing in the cool breeze from the open window. Together, their hands rest on Rose's stomach, where their future await them.

...

_February 1st, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose stood in the center of the living space of her new home. Not an apartment, an actual house. She gazed straight ahead towards the french doors. Beyond that, the wet melting snow radiated brightly in the overhead sun. Rose gazed towards the few boxes stacked against the walls and then at the two love seats from her apartment that had made it to the house. She took a few curt paces around the room, looking all around, and making mental notes as to what her and Jack would have to shop for to make it more of a home. She put her hands on her hips, inspecting the windows. She couldn't decide what colors the curtains would need to be. Something to brighten to room up, she thought, as it was the first thing in sight of the entrance.

Just then, the front door opened, tearing Rose away from her thoughts. She walked towards the archway leading into the foyer to see Jack carrying a box in, followed by two other people, whose arms were also full.

"In the living room is fine for the time being," Jack told the older brunette man and young blonde girl. Together, the trio cluttered everything they were carrying along the wall, dusting their hands and sighing in relief. Jack clapped his hands together and put his hands on his hips, "Well, I don't think everyone has formally met. Rose, this is Frenchie, my boss, and his younger sister, Iris; she's an artist, as well."

"It's great to meet you," Rose shook Frenchie's hand first, which was met with great vigor. Iris' handshake was a bit more stiff, but she shared the semblance of a fragile hand like Rose, so she didn't think much about it, "Jack's told me really great things about you two."

"Congratulations, by the way," Frenchie said, rather sheepishly, "Jack's a really great guy. The order of your life is not what matters. But having a guy like Jack, does."

"Aw, shucks, Frenchie," Jack grinned, giving his boss a small nudge, "He's just sayin' that because he loves babies for whatever reason."

"They're cute!" Frenchie furrowed his brow together, "Are you telling me you don't think babies are cute, Jack?"

"I think you've found your nanny," Iris said quietly, a small smile on her face.

Rose giggled at the comment and Iris looked towards her. Iris' eyes followed Rose's long ferocious curls falling down her back. She examined the glow of her porcelain skin. Rose looked towards Jack and immediately, Iris' eyes darted to him, to see his bright eyes and big smile. Iris panged inside for a fleeting moment, gazing down to the freshly upholstered carpet.

...

Rose stepped out onto the connected balcony of the master bedroom to take a break. They had hauled majority of the bedroom things there first and she was determined to have it unpacked in time for bed. She knew she would be tired once night came. Rose tilted her head up into the sun, going to lean against the railing. She took a moment to gaze over the empty backyard before looking back up towards the sun, crossing her arms over her chest. Rose sighed, her lower back aching in protest of all her movement. Her feet throbbed in her shoes. Even her legs hurt. Rose brushed a curl back from her face, sighing in the process.

She heard the shuffle of feet onto the deck and opened her eyes, expecting Jack. She masked her shock, however, upon seeing it was Iris. The petite blonde girl stepped out onto the balcony and gazed over the slushy mess of snow down below before glancing towards Rose. Iris lowered her head for a moment, her wavy blonde hair falling around her face.

"You and Jack are really having a baby, huh?" She asked, rather dumbly. She lifted her bright blue eyes to look at Rose.

"I think so," A small grin twitched at her lips. Rose glanced towards the yard for a moment, "I definitely feel sick like I'm going to have a baby."

"What's it like?" Iris asked, her eyes never leaving Rose's, "Being pregnant, that is."

"Well," Rose shrugged half-heartedly, "I've only known for less than a month. But, honestly, I feel fatigued much easier. Nauseated. It's not always great. You can only do so much to alleviate the pain, sometimes."

"And... this is what you want?" Iris tilted her head slightly, a lock of her hair grazing her round cheek, "To get married, have a baby; be a wife and mother?"

Rose lowered her eyes for a moment, watching her fingers tap against her arms, tucked together to keep her warm. She eventually looked back to Iris, "It will be more than just being a wife and mother. Jack wouldn't let that be my only identity. He wouldn't think of me only in those terms."

"You know," Iris let out a long sigh and turned towards the railing, gripping it and looking out over the backyard, "you're very lucky to have someone like Jack."

"I am," Rose nodded.

"Have you ever loved anybody else?" Iris asked, gazing over her shoulder at Rose.

Rose meerly shrugged, remaining where she was, "There were people I thought I loved," Rose glanced towards the sky, squinting for a moment, "but I didn't know what love was, then."

"What is love to you?" Iris nodded her head.

Rose took in a deep breath, gazing all around before she finally looked at Iris, "Love feels like home. I look at Jack and that's what I see."

Iris turned her eyes back towards the yard, gripping the railing tightly. Her teeth copied, clenching with great strength, building a tensity in her shoulders, "That's what I felt, too..." She whispered.

"Pardon?" Rose leaned forward, "I didn't catch that, I'm sorry."

Iris ran her tongue along the front of her teeth, feeling hot tears prick behind her eyes. She didn't dare look at Rose. Her entire body was beginning to tremble, making her ache. Iris took a deep breath and shook her head, "Nothing."

Rose watched the back of Iris for a moment, "You know, he cares a great deal about you."

"That's what everyone says."

"I'm sorry it's not what you wanted."

Iris looked towards Rose now, her eyebrows arched, "It doesn't matter. At least someone got what they wanted," And with that, she turned on her heels and left. Rose watched the door where she disappeared and heaved a sigh. She finally gave in to her aching feet, sinking to the ground and straightening her legs out in front of her. The boards of the balcony were cool and stung her thighs. Rose gazed back towards where Iris had disappeared, lost in thought, as her hand rest over her stomach.

...

Rose was tired as she made her final entrance into her old apartment complex. The sun was setting, bathing the city in bright hues of orange. Rose checked her mailbox, but luckily, nothing was there. She padded down the hall, gazing towards her familiar silver key. She sighed, jamming it into the apartment's door one last time. When she entered, she nearly shuddered at the sight of the barren apartment. She closed the door gently behind her, slowly wandering towards the center of the living space. She twirled in a circle, her gray cotton dress swirling around her legs.

For nearly two years, this had been her safe place. Her hideaway. She gazed at the walls where posters of nickelodeans had once hung. She stared at the indention in the carpet of where her heavy oak bookshelves used to sit. Rose's hand slowly glided along the breakfast bar, the cool tile stinging the tips of her fingers. Rose paused, however, when she saw a forgotten pack of crumpled cigarettes sitting on the bar. She stared at them for a moment before she reached forwared and flicked the packaging open to see one cigarette and a lighter remaining. Rose twiddled the cigarette between her slender fingers in front of her eyes.

_One last time. One more to take the edge off, _She thought to herself, placing it between her lips. She lit it and inhaled, not even bothering to open any windows. Rose closed her eyes and relished in the burning sensation of the smoke against her throat. Her entire body tingled as she drew from the cigarette again, her lipstick smudging the end.

_Everything's gonna be alright, Rose._

"I know..." She whispered, lowering the cigarette for a moment.

_I'm excited for the future._

"I want to be, too," Rose said, her voice nearly strained.

_Everything will work out._

"Is it that easy, though?" Rose protested, smoke drifting from her lips slowly. She turned to look at the empty room around her, "Can people really live happily ever after? Those phrases are used in fairtytales... and I was always chastised for blurring the line between them and reality. Is it really all so simple? That you get what you want and everything else magically fades away, makes sense, and works out... it seems so far fetched," Rose took a drag of her cigarette, carelessly letting the ash fall across the carpet as she paced.

"I want to believe everything will work out. I'll have Jack, we'll have our home and our baby, and life will finally make sense," Rose took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, as the smoke of her cigarette wafted past her, "But when has anything in my life actually worked out? All these skeletons... they'll topple over me, they'll _crush _me sooner or later," Rose shakily inhaled from her cigarette, "And they just keep adding up..."

Rose glanced to her cigarette, sad to see it slowly burning away. Quickly, she took another drag and shook her head, "I want to be a good mother. I want to be Jack's wife. Hell, I just want to be excited about this pregnancy... something's stopping me, though... I just want to give in to it, dammit," Rose curled her hands for a moment and let out a long sigh, a loose strand of hair from her bun and grazing her cheek, "Just give in, Rose. Stop being so wound up. Stop worrying so much."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Rose's head snapped that direction and she was motionless for a moment before she briskly walked towards the kitchen, holding the cigarette under the faucet of running water. She glanced to the rather hazy room before she opened the door. When she did, the contents of her late lunch nearly found its way out of her.

Standing there was Tim with an envelope in his hands. He looked to Rose and slowly his hazel eyes wandered around her, seeing nothing but empty space behind Rose. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, "Hi, Rose."

"Hello, Tim," Rose said, straightening her shoulders.

"Are you... moving out?" He asked, rather hestitantly.

Rose took a deep breath and glanced over a shoulder for a moment before willing herself to look into Tim's eyes. Each moment she did, however, she felt as if she was going to be horribly sick, "Yes... I am."

"Onto bigger and better things, hm?" Tim asked, his face not twitching to reflect any emotion in the least, "When's your last day at this residence?"

"Today, actually," Rose told him, "I'm just here for the last things."

"Oh," Tim arched his eyebrows for a moment and nodded, lowering his eyes to the parcel in his hands, "I won't keep you long, then. I just wanted to give this to you," He held it out towards Rose. She saw her name was written across in a dainty, yet sharp, cursive.

Gingerly, Rose took it into her hands and looked to Tim, "What is this?"

"Well, I'm not sure if you remember," Tim rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly, gazing up and down the hallway for a moment, "But I took one of your short stories and gave it to a client of mine in publishing. That's their response. I didn't open it, so I have no idea what it says."

"Thank you," Rose lowered her eyes to the large envelope cradled in her arms, "I'll read it later. I appreciate you bringing it by, Tim."

Tim nodded slowly, "How are you?"

Rose lifted her eyes from the parcel and shifted her weight between her feet for a moment, "I'm hanging in. What about you?"

"I guess I'm just doing the same," Tim nodded, casting his eyes down.

Rose bit her lip and paused before taking a short curt breath, "Is there a reason you brought this directly to me? You could have mailed it. I forwarded my address with the postal service."

Tim pursed his lips, "I know... I just wanted to see you again. That's all."

A silence fell between the two. Rose shifted the parcel in her arms. It crinkled with each of her movements. Rose looked to Tim, "You know we can't keep seeing each other, Tim."

"Says who?"

"Says _me_," Rose insisted, shaking her head, "It's not good for us. Especially you. Why do you insist on continuing to see me?"

Tim was silent. The silence continued on beat after beat and Rose waited rather impatiently, wondering if he actually had anything to say. He licked his lips and placed his hands on his hips, "You act like you're replaceable, Rose. I don't know if you know, but you're not. Some days, I just want to see your face. I think it will make everything in the world better."

"How could it?" Rose furrowed her brow, feeling rather hurt, "I... I can't even bring myself to say it; I'm ashamed, Tim. How could you possibly even want to look at me again after what I did?" She felt herself beginning to drown in the familar waves of self-hatred.

Tim sighed, shuffling his feet, "Because I love you. And those feelings won't go away."

"How can I make those feelings go away?" Rose asked softly, feeling herself begin to tremble.

Tim shrugged, "I don't think anything you could say could make them go away."

Rose lowered her eyes for a moment, slowly licking her lips. Her heart was pounding ferociously in her chest, the parcel shaking in her hands. She willed herself to look back to the patiently awaiting Tim, who himself looked lost in the fortress of human emotions. Rose took in a deep breath, her shoulders hunching, "What if I told you... I was pregnant and marrying a different man?"

Tim's eyes darted towards Rose, obviously caught off-guard. He was still for a few moments, unsure of how to react. He eventually reminded himself to blink and breath, "Is that the truth?" He asked softly.

Rose kept her shoulders straight, trying not to falter by her words, "It is. It's not how I intended it to be... but it's the truth."

Tim was silent as he gazed down onto Rose, his glasses gleaming in the light. He opened his mouth for a moment, but no words came out. He lowered his head and pursed his lips again. She could tell so many things were running through his mind. So many what if's, the very same that had scattered through her mind so many times before.

Tim's eyes eventually tore away from his shoes and he looked to Rose, "I still love you. It's not what you want to hear, but I do, Rose. I'll leave you alone because it's what you want. But... I'll never stop thinking about you. I'll never forget our time together."

Rose nodded, gripping the door weakly, trying to keep the tears away, "Okay, Tim."

"You know where to find me."

Rose looked to Tim with glassy eyes. She said nothing and opted only to stare at him. Tim paused for a moment, looking to the parcel in her arms. He then looked at her one last time before he turned and began back down the hallway, his leather soled shoes padding against the carpet.


	41. The Future

Chapter Forty-One

_February 4th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

The sun was just beginning to rise as Jack came into the kitchen, flicking the lights on. He gazed towards the bay windows as the sun bled into the room. He liked the mornings here. It was much quieter than Rose's old apartment complex, which was filled with a general population of blue collared workers who were up and about early in the morning. Distantly, a dog barked, further uniting Jack's romanticized idea of living in a normal neighborhood. He looked to the empty space beneath the bay windows, wondering where he could find a nice and decently priced kitchen table. Jack and Rose were condemned to eating at barstools at the island.

He began gathering everything together to make coffee. He marveled at how much counterspace he had as he set everything out. He decided to make some toast and arranged a plate of fresh berries for Rose when she woke up. As he slid the berries towards where they would sit, he paused when, for the first time, he noticed a large parcel sitting on the counter.

Rose Dawson was scribbled across the center. When Jack glanced to the return address, he realized it was a publishing company. He cocked his head to the side, his messy hair rustling. Rose had never mentioned submitting her writing to anyone. When he turned the parcel over, he realized she hadn't even broken the seal. How long had this been here?

Jack turned on the balls of his feet and began back up the stairs. Rose had been stirring when he got out of bed. He tucked the parcel under his arm as he gently pushed the bedroom door open and peaked in. Rose was seated in a recliner they situated beside their large picture window overlooking the street that ran in front of their house. She was rubbing lotion on her hands and arms. She looked to Jack, her eyes slowly lowering towards what was in his hands.

"Hey," Jack said, his voice somewhat husky with sleep as he meandered across the bedroom, holding the parcel out towards Rose, "I wanted to know why you hadn't opened this. It's from a publishing company, Rose! You didn't tell me you were submitting your work."

"I didn't submit anything," Rose replied, continuing to lather the buttercream lotion towards her elbow. Her green eyes looked to Jack, gleaming in the brilliance of the morning light that was streaming across their bedroom, "Tim took something off my writing desk and submitted it for me."

"Oh," Jack lowered his eyes to the large envelope in his hands. He hovered over her name, "well, I still think you should open it," He held it out towards her again, "It might be an acceptance letter. You obviously want to write, Rose. I've seen you on that typewriter."

Rose smirked, looking down to the bottle of lotion on the table beside her, "I sincerely doubt it's an acceptance letter, Jack. He took a rhetorical story about animals off my desk, of all the one's, he chose my experimental piece. It had horrible errors."

"You'll never know if you don't open it," Jack insisted, bringing it even closer to her.

Rose sighed and gingerly took it into her hands. Jack looked over her shoulder rather anxiously as Rose unwound the string holding the parcel shut. Slowly, she untucked a rather large clipped together stack of paper. She dropped the envelope to the ground, her eyes mesmerized by the words on the first page that were there to greet her.

_Dear Ms. Rose Dawson,_

_ We here at Iron and Tooth Publishing and Co. are always looking for fresh emerging authors to keep the world of literary arts an everchanging, dynamic, fluent, and diverse culture. Your submission of A PETER PIPER PARTY was, to put it blatantly, an eye-opener. We enjoyed your engaging tone and narration and were heavily invested in the rhetorical nature of the story. The fact you wrote it through the presence of nature only exmplefied your refined skill in writing._

_ We would like to publish this short-story in our magazine and you shall receive compensation for your contribution. We would also like to invite you to our office in downtown Manhattan to meet with an agent to speak about a possible future career in writing and publishing. Below, you will find our contact information. We eagerly await your response._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Thomas Williams, Head of Publishing_

Rose nearly hit the floor. Jack steadied her in her seat, gripping her shoulders tenderly with a big crooked grin across his face. He massaged her gently, lowering himself beside her ear, "What was that you were saying about errors?"

...

By mid-morning, Jack had left to go paint at the studio. Rose left not long after him, hurriedly pulling her peacoat on. She stuffed the acceptance letter in her pocket and locked the door after her, walking with purpose up the small incline leaving their neighborhood. The city was alive with energy as she found herself crossing through her familiar old neighborhood to get up-town. She glanced down the road as she crossed, catching a glimpse of her old apartment complex peaking above another building on that hill she hated.

It was still rather chilly outside so Rose stuffed her hands into her pockets. She felt the acceptance letter crinkle beneath her clenched fists. She was still astounded her work had been met with success. She had surprised herself. But she also worried that was her one-hit wonder and that perhaps, it had been submitted prematurely. Rose lowered her eyes and huffed, telling herself to be optimistic. That it was the start of something new. She was going to make it be that way, she was determined.

Rose found herself standing outside of a tall building that gleamed in the sun rays. Her eyes slowly wandered to the directory outside, spying his name in the third line. She squared her shoulders and walked through the door, her peacoat waving behind her and revealing her peach colored cotton dress, embroidered with light green thread across the midriff and chest. She nodded politely towards the receptionist and briskly crossed to the elevator, asking for the twelth level. The elevator bucked and creaked in all the familiar parts. She counted down the seconds to the next creak, as if to convince herself she was really there.

"We're here, ma'am," The attendant drew her from her thoughts and she saw he was patiently holding the gate open for her.

"Thank you," She replied rather airly. She stepped into the hallway and took a hard left. Her feet slowed as she approached the door of the office. TIM CALVERT. Rose squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and surged her hand forward, gripping the door knob. She decided she had to do it quick, not think about it at all. And so she pushed and she came through to the office.

Tim was sitting at his desk, facing towards the window. He had many books opened on top of his desk, plus a large stack of papers with one in the typewriter, half of it covered in ink typings. She figured he was writing up a case report. Upon hearing the door, Tim swiveled his chair. When he saw it was Rose, he was on his feet in the next moment, hitting his knees against the desk and causing the books to shudder.

"Rose, what are you doing here?" He asked unsteadily.

"I know, it's quite the surprise seeing as what I told you just a few days before," Rose sighed, closing the door behind her and approaching the front of the desk. She gingerly withdrew the crumpled letter from her pocket and unfolded it, "You said you didn't read it?"

"No, honestly," Tim shook his head, "It's illegal under federal law to open a letter not addressed to you, anyway. It's in the code of ethics of lawyers to not open client's mail, as well."

Rose smiled at him, _Always playing by the rules, _"So, I'm a client now?"

"I guess it depends on what the letter said," Tim told her, "If you were accepted, it'd be wise to have a lawyer to help handle any things that may come your way. The media loves to slander and interpret authors any way they can turn the words. Someone like me may be able to protect you from that. That is... if you're going to choose to become an author."

Rose held the letter out to him and he pulled it between his fingers, slowly reading it. After a few moments, he grinned and lowered the paper, "Congratulations, Rose. Really. This is a huge feat. I told you that you wrote gold."

Rose grinned and lowered her eyes, "Yeah... thanks for believing in me, Tim."

Tim put his hands on his hips and shifted weight between his feet, "So," He cleared his throat rather unevenly, "if we can't be together," He said slowly, "Can I at least be your lawyer, Rose?"

"If you think I'll need one," Rose replied, nodding almost in slow motion, "No surprise bills in the mail, right?"

Tim chuckled, his shoulders bobbing up and down, "You might need a lawyer, in my opinion. Why don't we plan a day to go to the office together and meet with the agent? My speciality is in contract negotiation. I could get you a good check cut for more work."

"Like an advance?" Rose arched her eyebrows.

"It's a standard practice in the literary world," Tim told her, shrugging, "It's to support you while you dedicate time to writing. Think of it as getting paid hourly, like when you waitress. I can help you get the most, so you feel comfortable enough to write your best work."

"Well," Rose cocked her head to the side, "I guess I _do _need a lawyer. I had no idea something like that even existed."

Tim reached into a drawer of his desk, withdrawing a leather bound portfolio. He consulted his agenda for a moment, "I can fit you in on the eleventh. We could arrange the meeting for one o'clock. How does that sound?"

"Sure, I'll call-"

"Don't worry about it," Tim said, scribbling the number down in his journal, "I'm your lawyer. I'll arrange it for you."

"Oh, well, thank you," Rose told him with a small nod of the head.

"Of course," Tim looked up from his portfolio, "It's what lawyers do for their clients."

...

When Jack returned home that evening, the entire house smelled wonderful. He could hear something sizzling as he shrugged out of his jacket and went to the kitchen. He found Rose standing over a pan by the stove, using a wooden spoon to push some potatoes around, which were cackling and popping in butter.

"Hey," Jack said, grinning and leaning against the archway. Rose had her hair piled atop her head with a few loose strands falling around her face. She was wearing one of his dark purple button-ups that could nearly swallow her up if she hadn't rolled the sleeves, "what's for dinner?"

"Potatoes and beans," Rose told him, smiling as well. She seemed rather light on her feet as she skipped over to check on the boiling pot of beans, "It just sounded so good."

"How was your day?" Jack asked, as he crossed to a cupboard and began pouring himself a glass of water, "What'd you do?"

Rose took a moment to stir the beans before she set her utensils down and turned towards Jack, whipping a strand of hair from her face, "It's really going to sound crazy, but I was absolutely astounded by the letter I read this morning, Jack. I couldn't believe it. What's even more unbelievable is that I allowed that acceptance letter to sit on our kitchen counter for half a week! It really had me thinking about myself and all the time that has elapsed since the _Titanic_," She told him, pressing her palms against the cool countertops, "And now with the news of what awaits us by the end of this year, I've decided it's time to make a change. For the better. For you. For me. For the baby," Jack was smiling as Rose continued, "I decided if I was going to start my writing career properly, I was to set everything straight. So I took the letter to Tim to show him. I was never going to submit that story, but that's the one he chose blindly out of the lot of them, so I felt Tim should know," Rose paused, her smile never wavering, "Tim had a lot of knowledge of the workings of the literary world. So he offered to be my lawyer. We'll speak with the publishing company next week in regards to payment and contract negotiation."

"Well, all of that sounds good," Jack crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his back against a counter, "But do you think it's a good idea to work with Tim? Do you think you both can handle that?"

"I've thought about that, too," Rose told him, turning to tossle the pan of sizzling potatoes, "I think we can. I feel like we had an understanding today," Rose placed the pan on a different burner to allow them to cool and turned back to Jack, "He is a wonderful lawyer and person. We just weren't meant to be together. And that's okay, I think. But if he gets to stay in my life, I suppose it's not all completely lost, right?" She shrugged half-heartedly.

"It sounds like you've thought it all through," Jack crossed to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She melted against his touch, "I trust you, Rose," He leaned in to meet her lips softly. He then grinned, "Now sit down and let me serve you dinner. Tell me all about your dreams for the future," Jack dipped in, tenderly meeting her lips again.


	42. This Isn't Giving Up

Chapter Forty-Two

_February 8th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack was upstairs painting in the office space when he heard the door bell ring. He paused, still holding his brush to the canvas, and gazed over his shoulder towards the hallway. He heard Rose shuffling about downstairs and then the door opened.

"Oh!" Resounded up the stairs to Jack's ears. He furrowed his brow as her voice quieted. After a few moments the door closed and he heard a ruckus of voices from down below, "Jack!" Rose called, "Frenchie is here!"

Jack popped up from his stool, trying to remember if it was a work day or not. It was Saturday. They typically didn't work on those days. Jack set his palette down and carelessly tossed his brush onto a rag crumpled on the ground. Jack went to the stair railing and leaned down to look into the foyer. Sure enough, Frenchie was there talking to Rose.

"You're looking well," Frenchie told her kindly, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Rose grinned, "I think I'm in the easy part right now."

"Whatever you need, don't hesitate to ask for," Frenchie said. When he heard Jack's shoes on the stairs, he turned towards him and smiled bigger, "There you are! Hey, I needed to talk to you."

"Is everything okay?" Jack asked as he finally came to the base of the stairs.

"Everything's fine," Frenchie assured him, "I just needed to tell you something. Maybe we should sit down?" He gestured to their rather sparse living room. Together, the trio seated themselves in recliners, couches, and loveseats. Frenchie leaned forward, pressing his elbows to his knees, "There's no easy way to say this, so I just will: Iris is leaving."

"What... do you mean?" Jack asked slowly, furrowing his brow. Even Rose was rather perplexed, "Like, she's quittin' at the studio?"

"More than that," Frenchie cleared his throat, "She's bought herself a one-way ticket by steamboat to Southampton. She's decided she needs what you had. A trip by herself, hopping border after border. Iris said..." He paused for a moment and looked to Jack, "She needed her own desperate attempt at finding what she loved about life."

"So, that's it?" Jack sat up straight, seeming rather irritated, "Your mom's in poor health and she's just gonna skip town on you two? God dammit," Jack came to his feet sharply and paced a few steps.

"Why are you so angry about this?" Frenchie asked, gazing towards Jack.

"I need to speak with her," Jack said adamantly, "She's goin' for all the wrong reasons. I didn't skip town to a foreign country to find what I loved. I left because there was nothing in my current town for me. She has a family, she has an outlet. She's doing this for no other reason than to run away from her ownself. Because she's too scared to confront how she feels and she's too scared to deal with it."

"By all means, please speak with her," Frenchie stood, gesturing widely, "I don't want her to go, Jack."

"When does she leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Frenchie replied, rather grimly.

"This is absurd," Jack scoffed, shaking his head, "Where is she?"

"At home, packing," Frenchie told him, "Momma was crying when I left. Iris was ignoring her. I've never seen her like this, Jack. I want my baby sister back. One that isn't so frustrated by life's events. One that doesn't feel like she has been scorned. Maybe you can be the one to talk her out of this."

"Well," Jack sighed, putting his hands on his hips, "she's not gonna like what I have to say."

...

When Jack made it to Frenchie's house, he was greeted by Irene sitting in the living room, dabbing her eyes and sniffling over a handkerchief. She looked up with her wet eyes towards Jack and Frenchie, who were shrugging out of their coats and hanging them by the door.

"Where's Iris?" Frenchie asked, rolling the sleeves of his shirt.

"Still in her room..." Irene's voice was heavy with sorrow. She stood and walked towards Jack, gripping his arm and making him pause, "You can't let her go, Jack. She can't go to Europe by herself. She just can't."

"I know, Irene," Jack said softly, nodding at her. He glanced to Frenchie who motioned for him to go ahead. Slowly, Jack walked towards the end of a hallway. He saw Iris' bedroom door was cracked, slivers of light from her room cascading against the wall. Jack's heart was hammering in his chest as he approached the door and lightly rapped on it with his knuckles. There was no response but he could hear her shuffling about. He pushed the door open, exposing himself in the threshold. Iris was at her desk organizing art supplies. She looked over her shoulder towards the visitor and he watched her face grow dark and exasperated.

"Let me guess," Iris spoke first, looking towards her collection cluttered on her desk, "Frenchie called for you to talk to me, huh?"

"We're concerned, Iris."

"There's no reason to be," She replied curtly, jamming her pencils into a pouch and taking it to a large carpet bag she had sitting open on her bed. Iris gripped the sides of the bag, glaring towards Jack, "This is what I want."

"Is it really?" Jack asked, taking a few more steps into her bedroom. He had never been there before. He glanced around fleetingly, seeing some paintings her father had painted mounted on the wall. Above her desk, she had several glamour stars displayed from different cinema releases. Her room smelled fruity, "I don't think it is."

"Well, what do you know about me?" Iris asked, sharply, looking to Jack with eyes that were steaming, "I don't think you really took the time to get to know me."

"Are you being serious right now?" Jack furrowed his brow, "Iris, your favorite color is yellow. Mary Pickford is your favorite actress. You love curry. You prefer white wine over red wine."

"Oh, good for you," Iris said as she crossed to her dresser and began yanking dresses out, "You know some minute, frivilous, irrelevant details about me," She began back to her carpet bag with her arms loaded with clothes, but Jack stepped in her way. She stopped curtly, a few cotton stockings falling to the floor.

"How do you expect us to learn anymore about each other, _like _each other more, if you're dead-set on moving half-way across the world?" Jack asked firmly.

"I guess I don't," She replied evenly, rounding Jack and continuing with her packing.

"So, what, you're giving up?" Jack turned towards her, his blood throbbing in his veins.

"No," Iris paused and lifted her eyes to Jack, "Consider this letting go."

Jack leaned forward, gripping the side of her carpet bag. He brought his face level with her's, "If this is because of me, Iris, I can guarantee you right now, this is not the answer," He spoke quietly. Iris felt her skin pucker in goosebumps, "If you get on that boat as a way to ignore everything that happened between us, well, then you're wrong. Because you're leaving behind more than that. You're leaving behind your brother and your mother. You're leaving behind Frenchie's studio. You're leaving much more than just me behind, Iris."

"This is for me," Iris shot back, yanking her carpet bag away from him, "It's my turn to do something for myself, Jack. Timing means nothing when you're desperate for a change."

"What are you going to do in Europe?" Jack straightened up, furrowing his brow, "You honestly don't think you're just going to couch-surf and draw pictures for dimes?"

"Isn't that what you did?" Iris asked, carelessly throwing her dresses into the bag.

"Iris, it was diff-"

"It was not!" Iris looked to him, a fire rising inside of her, "You left because there was nothing here for you, right? Well, the same goes for me."

"But there _is _something here for you!" Jack tried to mask any exasperation he felt, "Iris, we can't let you go. We care for you. We love you. And we're not about to let you walk out on this."

"What is all of _this _you're referring to?" Iris asked, "All I'm doing is living with my mother, greiving for my father, and simply following in the shadowed foosteps of my brother! I'm doing nothing for myself. I want this, Jack. I _need _this."

"I just feel like there's a different way to resolve this," Jack told her, "One that doesn't involve you putting an ocean between us."

"There's not," Iris resumed packing, "And there's nothing you can think of to convince me otherwise. I have to learn for myself, Jack. All of you do nothing but treat me as if I'm an infant. I can take care of myself and make my own decisions," She looked back towards him, "And for once, all of you will simply just have to deal with it."

"Iris, please, recon-"

"Don't you have a pregnant wife to get home to?" Iris asked while balling up some stockings and dropping them into the bag.

Jack felt his entire skin grow hot. It felt like his insides were baking over a flame burning in his belly. He bit down so hard on his lip, he tasted copper. His hands were beginning to quake as Iris continued with her packing, not even giving Jack a glance. After a moment, Jack turned on the balls of his feet and shut the door rather firmly behind him. He slowly walked towards the living room where Frenchie was now sitting on the couch, trying to comfort Irene, who still had tears falling from her eyes. Frenchie looked to Jack hopefully, but that was extinguished when he saw Jack's angry and pinched look.

"She... didn't change her mind, did she?" Frenchie asked flatly.

Jack walked towards the couch, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest, "I'm going to stop her, Frenchie. Even if it makes her hate me forever, I'm not letting her get on that boat."

"You didn't think to tell her any horror stories about sinking ships?"

Jack shot Frenchie a look, "That's the least of our concerns, Frenchie."

"So, what's your plan, then?" Frenchie asked.

Jack sighed and lowered his head, his blond hair dangling in front of his eyes, "Well... this is the only way I see it workin' out..."

...

_February 9th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack was awake long before dawn ever broke. He stared at the ceiling for hours. Rose slept soundly beside him and he was glad. He tried not to toss or turn so she could get her sleep. He listened to her rhythmic breathing in the darkness, trying to will his ownself to fall asleep, but he couldn't. He remained wide-awake, his thoughts pounding at his skull.

All he could think about was his interaction with Iris the day before. He remembered all the times before when they had had fun together, laughed together, and bonded. He thought about all the times they had, the times he cherished. Frenchie and Iris' friendships were integral to him. They had helped him through the darkest times of his life. Part of him was angry at Iris. He felt her lashing out was in direct response to Jack's moving on. He felt he had finally found happy days only to have them spoiled by the thought of de-railing the entirety of Iris' typical happy-go-lucky personality. Another part of Jack, however, was sad and almost scared. He was terrified at the idea of losing Iris in his life. He was scared of the unknown Iris so desperately wanted to leap head first into. His time in Europe had not been a luxury vacation. Some nights were spent sleeping on benches with a growling stomach. Some days were found in failure as he was not able to score a few coins. It took Jack awhile to adapt to a vagabond lifestyle. It wasn't easy at first. He worried Iris would face his difficulties and it pained him to think of her thousands of miles away with hunger pains, plagued in loneliness.

The sun slowly began to creep into the room. Jack's bloodshot eyes wandered to the windows as the new day welcomed him. He sighed and rubbed his tired face, immediately rolling out of bed. Frenchie had told him the ship had an eight in the morning departure time. Jack crossed to the door and leaned into the hallway to spy the grandfather clock near the stairs. It wasn't even five in the morning yet. Jack sighed and raked his hands through his hair, heading downstairs to the kitchen, resigned that he wasn't going to get any sleep.

He lazily got the coffee maker brewing and seated himself at the island, putting his head in his hands. Jack sighed deeply and shook his head. He slowly lifted his eyes to gaze out the window above the kitchen sink that overlooked the side yard. In that moment, all of his memories with Iris were dancing before him. Her smile, with her one slightly crooked tooth. Her laugh resounding across the studio. The sly way she cocked her head to the side. Her voice echoed through his mind as the taste of faint beer became apparent on his tongue.

The beep from the coffee maker startled him. Jack sat up as straight as an arrow, looking towards the coffee pot, which was steaming. He didn't move for a few moments, but finally sighed and got up, fixing his coffee. He wandered out onto the back porch, dragging a stool behind him. There were still dustings of snow and his bare feet stung as he walked across the dewey porch and hauled himself onto the stool. Jack's breath puffed before him as he pressed his back against the wall, cradling his coffee against his stomach. It was still, quiet, and dark. The first of the orange morning rays were beginning to fall across the wide open yard they had.

_I shouldn't have to choose, _Jack thought, anxiety rising in him as he imagined the ticking clock, growing nearer and nearer to the ships departure, _I told Iris... all the way from the start... I never promised her anything. I can't lose her over this. How do I make this clear to her? How can I convince her there's more in New York City for her, more that stretches far beyond those shadows she sees...? Why does this all have to happen now? _Jack heaved a sigh and took a curt sip of his coffee, _I'm startin' to think I'm just digging my grave over here._

...

Jack left the house before Rose woke up. He left the coffee on a hot plate and laid out some fresh fruit for her to choose between. The air was nippy. He buttoned his coat as he left the neighborhood an hour before the ship was due to leave. Jack walked decisively, making his turns confidentally as he weaved through New York City, towards the docks. He didn't look at his surroundings or any people brushing past him. He kept his eyes locked forward, his breath streaming behind him. His nose had grown red, his cheeks windblown and flushed.

He saw a commotion of a crowd up ahead, a train of cars and carts lining up the street. There were some honks and as he grew closer to the crowd, he could hear jubilations and loud chatter. Jack's heart beat ferociously in his chest as he watched some children dart about between people's legs, taking sharp turns and giggling. It reminded Jack of himself and Fabrizio that crisp morning in Southampton, their feet beating against the cobblestone, the wind at their backs, and their fates in their hands. Jack paused at the outskirts of the crowd, gazing towards the dock over a sea of bobbing heads.

The boat sitting at the pier was large, naturally, but was no where near the scale of immensity the _Titanic _was. Stencilled along the side in bold black paint it said _SS Mariana. _Jack stared through the crowd at nothing in particular before willing himself to slowly thread into the people. He brushed past people carefully. Every shimmer of ashen or blonde hair in the morning sun had Jack's head snapping to further inspect. He walked past many people who were in the middle of tears and heartfelt embraces. Other people were talking in excited tones, waving their tickets in their hands. Jack paused, his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing shallowing. He cocked his head back to look at the ship again, which had grown taller the closer he got. Jack felt horrendously weak in that moment. He felt as if he couldn't catch his breath.

Quickly, he darted between the gaps of the crowd, feeling himself overcome in heat suddenly. He hurriedly unbuttoned his jacket as he staggered from the crowd and into an alleyway. His feet clattered against the cobblestone as he fell against the wall, letting out an uneven breath. The sound of the ocean washed across his mind and he lowered his eyes, cursing himself with every word in the book. He blamed his lack of sleep. He blamed the absence of breakfast that morning. He blamed being overstimulated by the coffee. He blamed everything except the damned ship in the dock. Jack pressed his hand to his throbbing head. He slid down against the wall and lowered himself to the grimey floor, holding his eyes shut. Around him, the world tilted and whirled as he felt a persisting ache through his body. He had never felt something so overwhelming in his entire life.

_I have to find Iris... _Jack told himself as he pressed his forehead to his bent knees, _Pull it together and get off the ground, _he sighed as his body didn't even budge. Still, his heart thundered in his chest, making him fidgety and ridden in anxiety, _I think I'm losing my mind._

Just then, the ship blew its horn. Jack jerked his head up, seeing the smoke stacks beginning to bellow. He smelled the familiar burning odor of coal. It stung his nose. Jack gripped the wall and pulled himself to his feet, his red eyes gazing towards the steamboat. The crowd surged forward, the voices rising in unisons. Hands raised towards the sky. Many people lined the railings of the ships, dangling handkerchiefs over the edge, screaming down below, and blowing kisses. Jack watched with glassy eyes, his pupils slowly wandering down the railing of bright faces. He felt his heart sinking to the depths of his stomach as he heard the grinding of engines coming to life. He tilted his heavy head against the wall, watching as the _Mariana _bucked forward. The crowd, as if magnetically attached to the ship, migrated down the long docks as the ship made its slow descent towards the vast awaiting sea.

Jack lowered his eyes to his boots and heaved a heavy sigh. He turned away from the scene, trying to tune out the shouts of people and the resounding echoes of the departing ship. When he turned around, however, he froze, his breathing hitching in his throat. Standing in the alleyway before him was Iris, who had tears in her eyes, her suitcase forgotten atop a murky puddle. Jack rushed forward, embracing Iris' petite body in his arms.

"Iris..." He sighed. She felt his entire body shaking as he held her.

Slowly, Iris wrapped her arms around Jack. Silent tears brimmed over her eyes and slid down her flushed cheeks, "I couldn't do it, Jack... I couldn't go."

Jack opened his eyes, staring down the vacant alleyway behind Iris. He straightened up, gazing down at Iris' tear stained face. Jack weakly smiled, his eyes wet as well, "It's okay," His voice was uneven, the sounds and smell of the ship still stinging all of his senses, "We'll figure something else out."


	43. Into the Unknown

Chapter Forty-Three

_February 9th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose didn't mean to sleep as long as she did. The room was flooded in light as she curled her toes against the cotton sheets. She stretched, her back aching from her long sleep. Rose squinted as she glanced to the gold alarm clock on her nighstand. It was nearly ten in the morning. Rose sat up straight upon this revelation, looking around the room. Her messy curls bobbed on her head as she reached for her robe at the foot of the bed. Hurriedly, Rose checked the closet to see Jack's only pair of boots gone. She knew what was on his agenda for that morning. What had happened?

Rose fast-walked from the bedroom and quickly went down the stairs, her robe and nightgown trailing behind her. She whirled into the kitchen and stopped abrutly when she was greeted by two faces looking at her. Sitting at the kitchen island was Jack and Iris, each with their own mug of coffee. Rose's eyes wandered towards Iris' carpet bag carelessly disregarded on the counter.

"Mornin'," Jack greeted her, "There's some coffee for you, should still be warm. Fresh fruit in the ice box. I got you raspberries."

It took Rose a moment to catch her breath and find her voice, "Thank you," She turned towards the coffee maker and slowly poured herself a mug. She took a sip, the warmness sinking through the entirety of her body. She then turned back towards the duo at the island, "It's good to see you, Iris."

"Oh, uh, yes, likewise," Iris stuttered for a moment, sitting up straight with rosy cheeks, "I'm sorry to be here so early. I didn't mean to intrude on your morning. Um... how are you feeling?"

Rose grinned weakly, "I feel fine, thank you," She paused for the slightest moment, "What about you? How are you feeling?"

Iris looked down to her coffee cup. Her mouth opened slightly, but a few beats passed before any noise came out, "I'm feeling... better," She hunched her shoulders for a moment and looked between Jack and Rose, "I think I should go home now... I should see Frenchie and Momma."

"See you at the studio tomorrow?" Jack asked as Iris rose and hauled her carpet bag off the counter. She grinned lightly and nodded. She looked to Rose and waved before leaving the kitchen. A few moments later, they heard the front door close. Jack was finally able to exhale the long-winded sigh from the morning. He stood and crossed to Rose, dipping down and kissing her gently.

"So, what happened?" Rose asked softly, reaching for his fingers and lacing her's through his at their side, "I'm sorry I slept through all of it."

Jack grinned, pecking her on the forehead. Rose rounded the kitchen island and sat in Iris' recently vacated stool. Jack grabbed the raspberries from the ice box and opened the small crate, setting them in front of Rose. He refilled his coffee and sank back into his stool beside Rose, bobbing his knee, "Well... you already know she didn't go," Jack raked his hands through his hair, "I went down to the docks to find her this morning. Y'know, talk some sense into her. I had a speech prepared and everything," He let out another sigh, cradling his head in his hand, "The strangest thing happened this morning, Rose..."

"What?" Rose leaned forward, reaching her hand out to gently graze his wrist.

"There was just a big crowd there," Jack shook his head, "Lots of cars and carts. Seeing the ship in the dock... well, it just reminded me of the _Titanic. _I realized this morning I had done everything in my power to surpress those memories. I hadn't thought about anything having to do with that ship in nearly two years. Seeing the scene this morning... it was just déjá vu for me. It took me back to Southampton. I was so overwhelmed and caught up in myself, the ship left with me just standing in one spot for an entire hour. And all I could think about as I watched the ship leave was... well, I thought maybe there was a good reason I tried to forget the _Titanic. _Because it had a power over me that I didn't want it to have. Because it made me do stupid things. Because it's ultimately what drove us apart from each other for all those months. And I hate that, Rose."

Rose reached for a raspberry and paused, "I know what you mean."

"Iris didn't get on the ship, though," Jack told her, "I turned around and she was standing right there crying. And... she said the strangest thing. Something I had heard before. She said the same exact thing you said after you jumped off that lifeboat. It sent a shiver down my spine."

"Tim did that to me about a year ago," Rose said, lowering the raspberry back into the crate. She looked to Jack. She could tell he hadn't gotten much sleep, "I was being hesitant, as usual, and he said something you had said to me. One of the very first things. He said 'I'm involved now'. That shiver you felt? I've felt it one too many times."

Jack sighed all over and slowly his hand crept across the kitchen island, tenderly covering the top of Rose's. He gently carressed her soft skin, gazing at her in the morning light. How beautiful she looked without any make up, her curls allowed free around her face. A small crooked grin spread across his lips, "Can we go back to bed now?"

Rose let out a laugh, lowering her mug from her lips. Jack also chuckled, lifting her hand to his mouth, where he gently kissed her knuckles.

...

_February 11th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose took extra long to get ready that morning for her meeting. Jack laid in bed, his arms tucked under his head as he watched her take her time doing her make up. She applied her foundation and gave her cheeks color. She chose a dark red lipstick and dusted her eyes with a peachy color that caught the sunlight just right. She brushed her curls out, then floofed them, and then brushed them again. Jack watched with great interest, his eyebrows arched. Rose twisted her framing locks around, pinning them behind her head and allowed the rest of her curls to spill down her back. She was in the closet forever, walking up and down her variety of dresses. She finally settled on a long sleeve dark blue dress that had gold threaded hemming. She pulled her stockings up her legs first and then shimmied into the dress. She zipped it up and stood in front of her body length mirror. Jack watched as she turned in many different directions. Her shoulders then slumped and she let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, sitting up.

"Oh, nothing," Rose shook her head, turning sideways in the mirror, "It's just... this dress used to flow just right on my body. Now... it's making my stomach look lumpy."

"Well, uh, did you know you were pregnant?" Jack grinned boyishly. Rose shot him a look.

"I don't want to look pregnant for my meeting," Rose told him, "They don't need to know. It could hurt my chances of them wanting to do business with me."

She went back to the closet and pulled out a long sleeve purple dress. She tried it on and felt as if she was right back to how she originally felt. She let that one crumple to the floor beside her first attempt. Next, Rose chose an olive green dress with white threaded hemming. She said a silent prayer as she zipped the dress up and inspected herself in the mirror. The waistline was hemmed higher on the dress, giving it a more a fluid A-line skirt.

"You can't tell, right?" Rose asked, turning in front of Jack.

"Nope," Jack shook his head, his hair rustling against the pillow, "it's like I never knocked you up."

Rose grinned and came to the side of the bed, seating herself. She leaned forward onto Jack's chest, tracing light circles against his bare skin, "This is all your fault, you know?" She teased gently, "You've just made everything take twice as long in my life."

"Yup," Jack chuckled huskily, their faces hovering inches from each other, "guess I shoulda just stayed away, huh?"

Rose's smile never faltered, "Well... I suppose that would have been the easy thing to do."

"And when have I ever done things the easy way?" Jack grinned, leaning forward to close the space between their lips.

...

Jack made Rose a coffee to-go and even packed her some snacks. As she tucked it into her purse, she wondered how she could possibly even think of eating. Her stomach was tossing and turning with extreme anxiety as she played out a million and one different scenarios as to how the meeting could go today. She fidgeted with the coffee cup in her hands and looked to Jack nervously.

"Well," She let out an uneven breath, "off I go. Are you sure I look alright?"

"You always look beautiful."

"Seriously, Jack!"

"I'm being serious!" He said, doing his best to suppress his rising laugh, "You look great. You'll knock 'em out of the park with your personality, though. I think these publishers are about to find their diamond in the rough."

"Oh, I'm so nervous," Rose said, her knees nearly knocking together, "First impressions are everything, Jack! What if I get tongue-tied? What if I have no more good ideas? What if I end up sitting there, speechless, like an absolute fool?"

"Rose," Jack placed his hands on her shoulders, "that's not gonna happen. You're going to wow them, I just know it! This has been one of your dreams your entire life! Nothing can stop you, not even yourself. Sometimes you can't think about it; you just have to do it."

Rose took a moment to absorb Jack's words, nodding her head slowly, "Okay," She sighed. She lifted her hands to grip his wrists, "You'll be here when I get home?"

"Yes, of course," Jack nodded, "I'll be right here waiting for you. Now go. You don't want to be late."

"Okay," She nodded, almost robotically, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Jack pulled her in a tight embrace against him. She clung to his sturdy figure, "Eat your snacks, okay? Try not to walk too much, either."

Rose lifted her eyes to him and nodded, slowly tearing herself away from his body. She held onto his hand until they were too far away from each other. She felt the tingle in her fingers from where he had touched her. Rose continually looked over her shoulder towards Jack, who was grinning and leaning against the threshold of the front door. Rose squared her shoulders and walked briskly out of the neighborhood. Her entire body was wracked in shakes again as she focused on the task she had before her.

_Feel confident. Exude it, _Rose told herself, trying to tilt her chin up. She paused at the corner, waiting for the signal to cross the street, _You can do this, Rose, _She thought, her hand clenching her coffee mug tightly, _You've made it this far, right? It's time to cross mountains._

...

Tim was waiting outside his office building when Rose turned the corner. He had a leather satchel slung over one shoulder and was checking his wrist watch when he spotted Rose coming down the sidewalk. He grinned when he saw her and did a small wave as she closed the gap between them.

"Good afternoon," Tim greeted her, "Ready to go?"

"Yes," Rose nodded, "I think so."

"Great. If we start walking, we can catch the next subway to Manhattan," Together the duo stepped into line beside each other. They walked in silence for a few moments, migrating across the streets with large hoards of other buisness men. Tim gripped the strap of his satchel and glanced to Rose as they continued down the street, "Nervous?"

"Is it easy to tell?" Rose asked, staring straight ahead.

"Not necessarily," Tim shook his head.

"I'm more fearful of the unknown," Rose looked to the lawyer now, "I don't know what to expect."

"Well, expect one thing," Tim grinned light-heartedly, "You're about to become an author, Rose."


	44. Headway

Chapter Forty-Four

_February 11th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack took his time eating a light breakfast and relishing in more coffee before he made his way towards the studio. His mind continually wandered back to Rose, wondering how she was feeling, what she was doing, what was being said to her. He was nervous for her. When he opened the door for the studio, he was greeted by the familiar odor of paint. Frenchie was hauling cans towards the canvas he was going to work on. Iris was sitting on top of a tarp spread across the floor, pouring some dabbles of paint onto Frenchie's palette. Frenchie paused and straightened up when he heard Jack come through the door. His grin reached across his cheeks and he threw his hands up in greeting.

"There you are, brother!" Frenchie crossed to Jack, pulling his arm around his shoulder, "My hero."

"Hero?" Jack furrowed his brow as Frenchie whisked him into the community space.

"The wisest damn man I know," Frenchie continued.

"Frenchie, I didn't do anything," Jack shook his head.

"Well, that's not what Iris has been saying," Frenchie shot him a look before he knelt down and began prying lids off of cans of paint mixed by Jack days before. He stirred the paint around for a moment and looked to his little sister who had finished setting up the palette.

Iris paused and fidgeted with a ring on her finger before she looked up at Jack, "It's true, Jack," She told him, "I thought about what you said... and you were right. I was just giving up," She came to her feet now and smoothed her dress out, "Everything you said to me was ringing in my ears as I stood in line to board the ship. The attendant asked for my ticket and I... I felt like I couldn't think straight. I simply turned around and walked away."

"It's all behind us now," Jack replied, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto his stool, "I'm just glad you're here."

"Oh, it gets even better than that!" Frenchie's eyes lit up from where he was knelt on the ground. He popped up, pulling his sister in close, "Iris is going to start painting with us!"

"Really?" Jack grinned at the thought, "I'm happy to hear that. About damn time you joined us."

Frenchie chuckled ferociously and reached for Jack, pulling everyone in for a big group hug, "You know, when we were children with our own ridiculous dreams and ambitions, I dreamed I had a studio just like this. Filled with my favorite people doing my favorite past time," Frenchie looked to Iris, "This is how Dad would have wanted it, Iris."

"I think so, too," Iris nodded, "I think Daddy would be happy for us."

Frenchie smiled and tightened his grip around Jack and Iris, mashing everyone together. Their chuckles echoed through the studio and finally, they all parted and stared to each one of their own canvases, sketched out, and begging to be completed.

...

_Manhattan, New York_

Rose had never been to the bordering sister-city. It didn't look much different from New York City. It had tall buildings that gleamed in the chilly afternoon light. It was bustling with many business men, some hurrying along with coffee in their hands, while others chatted with friends and walked slowly, newspapers tucked under their arms. The train station was busy, but Tim knew what he was doing and easily sliced through the packed platform, leaving a wake for Rose to follow in. They went down the stairs and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Tim took a deep breath, adjusting his satchel on his shoulder.

"I always say Manhattan needs another train station," He told her, "It's simply too busy for just one. Five years ago may have been a different story, but this city is taking off."

Rose looked up and down the street. It seemed cleaner and much more modern compared to New York City. She glanced to Tim, "It's rather affluent up here. I've never been to Manhattan."

"This is where my first internship in a law office was back in the 1890's," Tim said as he steered Rose left and they began down the foot path, "It was much different twenty years ago. New York City used to be the place to live. Now, I think it's the other way around. Manhattan has boomed."

Rose turned to brush past a group of people taking up nearly the entire sidewalk. Tim stepped down into the street for a moment, "I thought New York City was big..."

Tim grinned, "Well, if you start working with this publishing company, I bet you'll grow to love Manhattan more than New York City. I know I did, but I chose not to live here because it's rather expensive."

"Well, if you can't afford it, then neither can I," Rose laughed at the thought.

Tim glanced to his wrist watch, "We have enough time to swing by a café, have something to eat, get some coffee, and talk business, if you'd like. I know a great place that's actually not far from the office."

"It would be nice to sit down," Rose said, "I'm kind of tired."

"Great, let's go," Tim replied, "You can never have too much coffee, anyway."

...

_New York City, New York_

"Ready?" Jack asked, glancing up the ladder Iris was on. She nodded, looking down towards him. Slowly, Jack lifted a palette up to her, "Careful now, you don't want to bleed the colors into each other," Iris bent down, her hand just grabbing hold of the edge.

"Did you two have to go to a college for circus performers?" Iris laughed as she steadied the palette in her hand and balanced it against the ladder, "You make it look so easy."

"Just takes practice," Jack assured her, going back to the communal table and readying his palette, "You'll see. By tomorrow you'll be a pro."

Iris grinned for a moment, dipping her paint brush into the bright red. She glanced around the empty studio. Frenchie was in the back room mixing paint for his own project. Iris looked at the back of Jack as he worked on squeezing paint tubes, "You know, I never thanked you properly, Jack."

"There's nothing to thank me for," He said over his shoulder, "In the end, it was all you, Iris."

"Not just that," She told him, lowering her brush away from the canvas without even making a stroke, "Just everything you did for me following that. Taking me back to your house, making me coffee, letting me just tell you everything... it was so relieving. So, thank you for that, Jack."

Jack grinned and raked his hair from his face. His blue eyes gazed up towards Iris and she felt her heart skip a beat, "It's what friends do, right?"

"Well... I realize now I sincerely appreciate you as my friend, Jack," Iris pushed her hair behind her ear slowly, "I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"The feeling is mutual," Jack laughed, his shoulders bobbing up and down, "I'd much prefer have you here instead of somewhere in Europe," He began to return to his task and looked back to Iris, "Welcome to the team, by the way."

"Thanks for havin' me," Iris replied, freshening her paint brush and beginning her first strokes on the canvas. Jack grinned at the sight and turned back to his palette. He glanced towards the clock as he squeezed some blue from a tube. Rose's meeting would be starting soon. He wondered what she was doing.

...

_Manhattan, New York_

Rose and Tim were sitting at a small circular table beside a wall-length window. It was a beautiful day out and the sun bathed their spot. Rose enjoyed the warmth it covered her in. She was having a glass of tea and a turkey sandwich. She found herself suddenly hungry the moment they walked through the door. Tim was simply having a coffee as he reviewed some of his documents.

"So, for the magazine contribution," Tim cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, "I think I could squeeze them for ten bucks flat. Typically, they'd give eight, but your story is four hundred and fifty-two words longer than a normal entry, so I think the fact they've accepted something at this length, they should give you more."

"Now, one thing I'm worried about... may I voice that?" Rose asked, dabbing her napkin to her lips.

"Of course," Tim straightened up, "Please, voice any concerns you may have."

"I'm a newcomer to the literary world. I have no name in this pool. I'm worried about coming in a bit... aggressively. I don't want to push anyone or make them believe I'm hard to work with," Rose cleared her throat, "In other words, I don't want them to believe I'm playing lawyer-ball with them."

Tim grinned and took a slow sip of his coffee, "Well, lucky for you, I actually represent this company in the legal field, apart of three other in-house lawyers. I have a great repetoire with them. I've been working for them for four and a half years now."

"Okay, new concern," Rose paused from taking a drink of her tea, "I don't want special treatment or to be published simply because I know someone who knows someone."

"That's not how this is," Tim leaned in towards her, "I promise. I didn't hand it to anybody directly. I put it in one of the agent's boxes in the mailroom. He knew I left it, but all I asked in a small note was to review it, that I had simply come across it. I wanted to know if he thought this was a good fit for the company. You did the rest, Rose, really," He grinned again, his hazel eyes gleaming in the brilliant afternoon light shedding down on them, "Besides, you're not getting special treatment. You waited over three months for a reply and two and half of those months were probably spent in a cluster of other stories. You made it through, but you waited in line, too."

Rose finally smiled after a moment and exhaled, "I'm just really nervous. There's so many different ways this could go, Tim. They could hate me upon first sight. I could say something absurd. I could come across as boring or not very creative. This story they want may be the _only_ good story I ever produce!"

"Well, I only see it going one way," Tim leaned back in his chair, his mug hovering in front of his lips, "You walking out of there with a future in the writing world."

...

The building Tim guided Rose to for the meeting was one of the tallest buildings in upper Manhattan. Rose cocked her head back, staring at the company's name plastered across the top. Her heart was throbbing ferociously in her chest as Tim held the glass door open for her. Rose wandered into the decadent marble lobby slowly, as if she was a lost child. She looked to the crystal chandelier accenting the center of the room. There were large lucious pathos plants lining the softly illuminated marble walls. The thick red rugs running down the hallways helped muffle the patter of shoes.

"Wow," Rose whispered to herself.

"We'll be meeting them on the top level," Tim told her, "Wait until you see the meeting room."

Rose grinned as they stepped into the elevator with the attendant. She waxed and waned rather violently between dire excitement and total terror. Her stomach rustled about and for a moment, she wondered if that turkey sandwich was a good idea. She took the time to square her shoulders and readjusted her dress, glancing to be sure her stomach wasn't noticeable. The doors opened to a fancy corridor that was full of people brushing past each other, stacks of papers in their hands.

"Hello," The secretary greeted Rose. She then turned to look towards her company, "Oh hi, Tim. Nice to see you."

"Hey there, Penelope," Tim grinned, "Thomas is expecting an appointment at one with me and Ms. Dawson here."

"The conference room is ready for you," Penelope said, consulting her ledger, "You're set to go. Thomas will be there as soon as he concludes his current meeting. It shouldn't be more than ten minutes."

"Got it, thanks," Tim nodded, giving her desk a pat. He took Rose down the hallway, "I'm glad we're getting there first. That way you can soak in your surroundings for a few minutes," Tim stopped and opened a door labeled A1. When Rose walked in, she understood what Tim had been saying.

The room was large with a gleaming oak table and tall leather office chairs surrounding it. At the end of the table was a wall that was nothing but a large window. Slowly, Rose walked towards the window. She could see so far over the city. Not a thing obstructed her view. In the distance, she could see New York City, across the wide river, bobbing with ships. Tim took his time unpacking his satchel, occasionally glancing at Rose and grinning. It reminded him of seeing the room for the first time.

"I'll take your coat. Go ahead and get comfortable," Tim said, draping his on the back of his chair and crossing towards Rose.

"I'd rather keep it on," She said over her shoulder, her make up glittering in the light.

"You'll get hot," Tim replied, "Why would you keep it on? It feels nice in here. Central heating."

"I'll be fine," Rose shook her head, "I'd just prefer to have it on."

Tim walked back to his chair and gripped the back of it. He took a curt breath and looked back towards Rose, "You can't even tell."

"I'd rather not tempt fate," Rose looked back out the window, "Who would want to work with an unwed pregnant woman, Tim?"

"They don't have to know about the first part," Tim told her, "You already share his last name."

She lowered her eyes to her shoes for a moment, keeping her back to him, "It'd be best if it didn't come up in the first meeting. As my lawyer, I hope you can respect that."

Tim shuffled his feet for a moment, taking a deep breath. He adjusted his jacket and was about to respond when the door opened and a rather round man with gray hair entered the room.

"Mr. Calvert, good to see you!" He boomed. He swung the door closed behind him and extended his hand, approaching Tim.

"Thomas, hello," Tim grinned, immediately switching into professional mode. He gripped Thomas' hand warmly, "Pleasure, sir."

"Now, is this her? The wonderful and lovely Rose Dawson?" Thomas asked. Rose turned towards him now with a polite grin on her face. She held her hand out to Thomas, "Hello, dear. It's a true pleasure to have you here today. Here, let me take your coat and we can talk business."

Rose was petrified as Thomas removed her coat. He didn't her another glance, however, as he slung it over the back of a seat. He rounded the table himself, looking towards the beautiful day outside. Thomas took a seat, reaching for his discarded briefcase on the table. Rose immediately sunk into a seat, pleased to know the table covered her stomach. Tim looked to Rose for a moment, head to toe, before looking back to Thomas.

"Well," Thomas cleared his throat, "we already know you're being accepted to be published in our monthly magazine. We have over twenty-seven thousand subscribers. It will be a lot of exposure for you, Rose. Our contributors receive about eight dollars a pop."

"I'd like to counter for ten dollars for this submission," Tim said, folding his hands together, "It's longer than your most average contribution."

"I already like you, Rose," Thomas grinned at her, "You're a damned good writer and you're smart, too, having a man like Mr. Calvert protecting your best interest. I accept that counter. Ten dollars for this contribution."

"Thank you," Tim nodded, scribbling something down on his steno pad. Rose grinned.

"And, of course, you'll receive complimentary copies of the magazine to share with loved ones, keep as trophies, you know," Thomas waved his hand dismissively as he pushed a paper to the side to reveal another one, "That's pretty much figured out," Thomas leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs, "There's much more I'd like to get out of this meeting. I like you, Rose. I like you a lot."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Rose said calmly, folding her hands in her lap.

"I feel like there's so much more to you. You know, you can learn a lot by someone through the way they write. The feelings they're able to convey, evoke... it's what makes an author good. But it also makes you wonder how they could come upon that kind of mindset," Thomas grinned, "I feel a lot of promise from a newcomer like you, Rose. Do you think you'd be interesting in working on novels? I think you have a lot to offer."

"Yes," Rose replied, nearly astounded. Her voice almost faltered, "It's, uh, actually be one of my dreams all my life."

"Excellent," Thomas said, leaning forward again, "That's good to hear because you're good at it. I want you to do more of it. And I want to publish it for you," Thomas paused for a moment and looked at Tim before chuckling to himself, "Mr. Calvert, I can see you itching over there to get to logistics, your strong point. Well, let's talk numbers, Mr. Calvert..."

...

_New York City, New York_

Jack had gone home from the studio around four o'clock. He had beaten Rose to his relief. He fixed himself a small snack and brewed some coffee, anticipating he and Rose had a long evening of catching up to do. After an hour passed, he decided to go upstairs to his office and paint. It was Jack's favorite room in the house. There's nothing more he loved than being in a creative space, where he could be in his own little bubble. Before he knew it, another hour had passed and he heard the door opening. He was standing, when he heard several sets of feet clunking about. Eventually, Rose's harminous voice reached his ears, "... upstairs... last room on the right..."

Jack went to bannister and gazed into the front foyer, "Rose?" He furrowed his brow when he saw two men in coveralls hauling a large box up the stairs.

"Jack! Come down here!"

The men brushed past Jack and he barrelled down the stairs, nearly breathless. Rose grabbed hold of Jack's hands excitedly, "The meeting went really well! Tim got me a really great pay-out to continue writing for them! I just... I can't believe it," She pressed her hand tenderly to her forehead, "I can't even express how wonderful it all is, Jack."

"What did you buy?" He asked, glancing upwards as he heard the men shuffling about upstairs.

"I bought us a crib," Rose told him softly.

Jack paused and looked to Rose. He brought his hand up and tenderly stroked her cheek, "I'm so proud of you," He whispered, gently kissing her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered, her heart leapt in her check, and in that moment, everything finally made sense.


	45. Inscription

Chapter Forty-Five

_February 13th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack heard the front door open downstairs and then heard the shuffling of Rose with grocery bags. After a few moments, he heard her heels clunk up the steps. Jack was sitting on the floor of one of their empty rooms, the window open to allow a soft draft in. Rose appeared in the doorway, leaning against it with a soft grin.

"How's it going?" She asked, looking to the variety of wood pieces surrounding Jack. He looked up from using a screw driver to connect two peices by a bracket.

Jack paused, lowering his screw driver, "It's comin'... As you can see I haven't gotten very far. They don't make this very clear."

Rose smiled wider, coming into the room fully now, "Here, let me help. Two sets of hands are better than one," She eased herself onto the ground and grabbed hold of the two pieces Jack was putting together. He then reached for a sanded railing, inserting it into a hole. It became clear he was working on the bars and frame for the crib.

"So, I was thinkin'..." Jack mumbled as he grabbed another railing and fit it into it's spot while Rose held it steady. He reached for his screwdriver and shimmied on the floor to begin attaching the next bracket at the other end, "We should paint the room for the baby. What color do you want?"

Rose glanced around the room for a moment, feeling a tingly excitement run through her, "I'm not sure. It's almost hard to pick one without knowing if it will be a girl or a boy."

"Well, we can do something neutral," Jack told her, rounding the screw into the frame with ease, "Like a light green, a yellow, maybe even a light orange."

"It's just crazy to think..." Rose paused, tightening her grip on the crib, "Soon enough, we're going to have a baby. Some days, I still wonder how something like this could be happening."

"Well, I have a theory as to why," Jack grinned, still focusing on his task.

Rose laughed lightly, "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I get it," Jack replied, lowering his screwdriver and testing the tightness, "Weird to think we accidentally created a whole other life."

"I wonder what this world has in store for the baby," Rose said, "I hope nothing can stop them from getting what they want. I certainly don't want to stand in their way."

"You'll do nothing but hold them up, I know it," Jack told her, "I know you'll be a good mother. Whether it be a boy or a girl, it doesn't matter, we'll spoil the hell out of them and nurture all of their interests. The first step is just getting everything ready for them."

"Right," Rose nodded, again looking around the empty space, "We are missing quite a bit."

"But we still have plenty of time," Jack assured her, lining the next part of the frame up to attach to the bracket, "I have no doubt we'll be fully prepared when the time comes. At least you got the sleeping arrangements taken care of."

"I'll leave the color of the room up to you," Rose said, "You should have complete creative control over what it looks like."

Jack grinned, "Have you been thinkin' of any names?"

"Oh, goodness, no," Rose giggled, "The name has been the _least _of my concerns!"

"Well, I think having something to call them is important," Jack chuckled, finishing the screw.

"What have you brainstormed?" Rose asked.

"It's kind of dumb," Jack shrugged, "But I thought if it was a boy, we could name him after my father: James."

Rose smiled, brushing a curl from her face, "James Dawson. I like it. If it's a boy, we'll name him that."

"And if it's a girl?"

"Well, let's just hope it's a boy since we already covered that base," The couple shared a laugh that resounded out the window of the empty soon-to-be nursery.

...

They eventually decided to take a break from building the crib. Rose disappeared into the office to sit down and focus on writing. Jack went out to run errands. There were a few things he knew they needed at the studio and he also had the important task of buying Rose a birthday present. He didn't mean to wait so late to buy it, but life had gotten in the way.

He swung by an art supplies shop first that wasn't far from home. He dawdled in the paint brush section, taking his time to relish in touching all the bristles. He loved shopping for paint brushes, even when he didn't need any. He also took a spin down the paint aisle, examining every can that he passed. Jack paused when he came across a lime green. Slowly, he tilted the paint can in his hands, looking at the green smudge on the label. He decided to buy it on the off-chance he could use it for the baby's room. He liked the warmness of the color.

After that, Jack spent some time window shopping downtown. He looked at dresses and shoes, but shook his head in dismay at all of them. He considered buying Rose a purse, but he decided that was not good enough. He sighed as he meandered down the sidewalk, _What's good enough for Rose? She's put up with so much, overcome so many things... what on earth could I possibly buy her? _He took a moment to pause, inspecting some gloves and hats with large feathers. He heaved another sigh, however, when again, he thought none of it was good enough.

A few blocks up, Jack eventually came across a jewelery store. He inspected the glinting pieces in the window, shuffling his feet back and forth. He decided he couldn't buy another necklace since he had just purchased one for her. She wore it everyday. But he paused when he saw the rings radiating in the afternoon light.

_Why wasn't that obvious to me the entire time? _He thought to himself as he leaned in closer to the display, bonking his head against the window, _I should have married her four months ago. Well, actually... years ago..._

Jack entered the store. It was realtively quiet with the gentle crooning of a jazz radio behind the counter. A man in a crisp tuxedo was sitting on a stool behind a glass display, shining a set of rings he had set out before him. When he saw Jack, he grinned and set the rings out of sight. He stood and straightened his jacket, "Hello, sir. Welcome to Evan's Jewelry."

Jack smiled politely in response and began scanning through the cases. He set his previous purchases down to really focus. The man walked behind the row of brightly lit displays and stopped in front of Jack, "Shopping for a Valentine's Day gift today, sir?"

"Well, sort of," Jack laughed lightly, "Her birthday is on Valentine's Day, too."

"Oh, a two for one," The man grinned, "Anything in particular you were looking for? Necklace? Charm bracelet?"

"An engagement ring," Jack replied.

"Ah, down here you will find our signature collection made in-house. Designed strictly with proposal in mind," The clerk guided Jack to a corner display, "We offer many different cuts to the diamonds, as well. Personalization, too, if you desire."

"What's a good buy on a budget?" Jack asked.

"Mmm, I'd say everything on this side is good for the money," The clerk replied, hovering his hand over the display. Jack leaned in, inspecting the rings, and stopped when one caught his eye. The ring had a simple gold band. As the gold band reached the princess cut diamond, they were cut to resemble ivy leaves nestling around the base of the jewel. It was simple, but perfect. It wasn't too big nor was it too small. He could just imagine it on her slender fingers. Not too noticeable, but awe-worthy when caught just right in the sunlight.

"That one," Jack said, "I really like that one."

"Excellent choice," The clerk reached into the display and held it up for Jack, "We call this our Garden Ring."

"Oh, that's perfect," Jack grinned, "How much is it?"

"Seventy-five dollars."

It was still a little steep for Jack, but he decided it was worth it. He immediately fished into his pocket without a second thought and began counting his bills out.

"Would you like a free engraving on the inside? Maybe a date, a name? Something meaningful? We can do it for you right now. It shouldn't take any longer than about half an hour," The clerk asked. Jack set the money on the counter and the clerk handed him the ring to further inspect.

"Sure," Jack grinned, lowering the ring from his eyes, "I know just what I want it to say."


	46. Another Revolution

Chapter Forty-Six

_February 14th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack was the first one awake as the early morning light began to bleed into the bedroom. Rose was sleeping with her back to Jack, her shoulders rising and falling gently. Slowly, silently, Jack untangled himself from the bedsheets, being sure to creep across the floorboards with ease. He closed the door behind him and went down the kitchen, cluttering the counters in many different ingredients. He pulled some pans down and then a pot, filling that with water. Once the water was bubbling at the surface, he dropped a few eggs in and sealed the top on. He then went about getting a pan hot and dropped a slab of butter in. He whisked together some eggs in a glass bowl and dipped the bread into it, throwing it into the sizzling pan. While that cooked, Jack found a tray in a cupboard and began arranging a platter of berries on a small porcelain dish. The sopping wet bread was quick to fry and Jack flipped it with ease, humming to himself as he raked his hair from his eyes and checked the eggs beneath the rumbling surface of the water.

Jack arranged the french toast on another dish, sprinkling some powder sugar over the top. He set it on the tray beside the heaping plate of blueberries and raspberries. He poured a big glass of orange juice and set it on the tray. The eggs seemed ready to him and precariously, in full concentration, he hunched over the sink and gingerly peeled the shells off the hard boiled eggs. He took several moments rearranging the tray back and forth, trying to get total artistic perfection. He grinned, setting his hands on his hips.

Stealthily, Jack climbed the stairs again with the tray in his hands. He gently eased the bedroom door open to see she was still asleep, her arm now slung across where Jack was lying before. Slowly, Jack appraoched his side of the bed, grinning down on the angel tangled up in the bed sheets. He couldn't help but think about how much he adored her. How much she meant to him. And he knew he would never be able to clearly speak how he felt in the proper words. So he was determined to show her. Jack wanted to make sure Rose knew all the grief, all the pain, all the sorrow, it had been worth it if it meant they had the luck of crossing paths again. In the end, he believed, their quiet suffering, their desperate attempts to heal the hurt, had drawn them back together so they could be allowed to mend the pain together.

Jack eased himself on to the bed and set the tray just out of reach of her fingertips. He watched her a few moments more, her porcelain skin glowing, her red curls like a fire reaching around her. Jack licked his lips slowly and sang out gently, "Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday to you," Slowly, Rose's eyelids began to flutter and her green eyes opened. She seemed slightly confused at first and it was enough to make Jack chuckle, "Happy birthday, dear Rose... Happy birthday to you," He finished, his grin stretching across his face, as he stared down on Rose, who was still rousing from her sleep.

"Oh, Jack..." Rose propped herself up on her elbow, the lace of her nightgown tickling her skin. She raked her messy hair back from her face and looked to the tray sitting before her. Finally, she smiled and looked at him, softly saying, "Thank you," She reached out towards him, gently grazing his arm and ruffling his white undershirt.

"Eat up," Jack told her, handing the berries out. She sat up criss-cross in bed now, accepting the plate into her hand, "This is only just the beginning of things."

...

After Jack and Rose shared the breakfast tray together, they went about getting ready. Jack was insistent that Rose had a total care-free day and left everything to him. He didn't even allow her to make the bed. She grinned at the man in the reflection of her vanity as she did her face for the day. She decided to wear her hair in a bun and chose a green satin dress. She shimmied out of her nightgown and carelessly let it crumple to the floor. She then crossed the room to where her dress was laid out on the bed. She paused, however, when she passed her reflection in the body-length mirror.

Rose stopped and turned towards herself, simply staring. Jack looked up from lacing his boots. Rose turned a few steps, cocking her head to the side, "What is it?" Jack asked, straightening up.

Rose looked to Jack, "I'm starting to show, that's all. I was just looking."

Jack stood and crossed behind Rose, wrapping his arms around her stomach and lacing his fingers together. Tenderly, she set her hands atop his and stared at his reflection in the mirror as he gently kissed her neck, "That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes," Rose nodded, "because that means there really is a baby in there and I'm not crazy after all."

Jack laughed, pressing his lips to Rose's shoulder, "You were never crazy to begin with."

"I thought of a girl's name last night when I was writing," Rose told him, staring at their hands in the mirror.

"Really?" Jack turned to look at Rose directly, arching his eyebrows, "Let's hear it."

"What about... Violet?" Rose asked.

"Violet Dawson," Jack said. After a moment, he smiled and looked at Rose, "Yeah, I like that a lot. So, if we have a girl, we'll call her Violet. If we have a boy, we'll call him James."

"Maybe," Rose grinned, her green eyes shimmering in the morning light, "We could always hear a name we like better."

"Guess we'll see, right?" Jack replied before leaning in and pressing his lips to her's.

...

Soon enough, Jack and Rose were on the sidewalk heading into New York City. Many of the window fronts had been painted in reds, whites, and pinks. Women were dressed in bright colors that day, the men looking sharper than normal. It seemed Valentine's Day provoked a different kind of feeling for the city.

"Ah, do you smell that?" Jack said, exhaling loudly.

"What, oil fumes?" Rose looked at him, making him burst into rolling chuckles.

"I was going to say it smelled like love, but you're right, that car does smell really bad."

The couple eventually steered off into the true heart of New York City and they entered Central Park to take a late morning stroll while Jack silently brainstormed good places to catch an early lunch. Central Park inspired Rose. She enjoyed the energy and the environment. Something about this patch of nature bordered by skyscrapers was magnificent. She watched the children play. She looked to the nannies and mother's sitting on park benches, chatting while absent mindedly rocking a carriage. A screeching child drew her attention across the path, where she saw a young boy winding through trees to avoid being tagged by his playmate.

"I guess this will be me soon enough," Rose said, still looking around at her surroundings, "Bringing the child here to blow off some steam while I get quality reading time in."

Jack grinned at the thought, "Imagine all the skinned-knees you're in for."

"Well, I suppose that's one thing to consider," Rose giggled, glancing at Jack, "Especially if James is anything like you..."

"I think we're in for more trouble if Violet is anything like you," Jack nudged her playfully, "By the time she's sixteen, we'll be beating the boys away with sticks."

Jack gestured to a vacant bench, noticing Rose's cheeks were growing flushed. They seated themselves and Rose let out a sigh, crossing her ankles on command, "The hardest part about all of this is waiting," Rose said, brushing a loose curl from her face, "I can't believe we still have half a year before we find out whether we're welcoming a boy or a girl. I want to know now!"

"That's what makes it all the more exciting," Jack grinned, stretching his arm along the back of the bench, "I kind of like that element of surprise. Hey, we could hold a bet to make it all the more fun."

"A bet?" Rose echoed, surpressing a rising laugh. She looked to Jack with arched eyebrows, "Please, elaborate."

"Okay, so," Jack sat up now, turning towards Rose, "I'm gonna bet we're having a girl. If I'm right, I get to choose her middle name. If I'm wrong..." He paused for a moment and pondered, tapping his fingers to the iron arm rest of the bench, "Aha, I got it. If I'm wrong, I'll do all the laundry and grocery shopping for a month after the baby is born. So, Rose, what's your wager?"

Rose grinned, looking at Jack's beaming face in the overhead sunlight, "Alright. I bet we're having a boy. If I'm right, I will get to choose his middle name. And if I'm wrong, I'll pose for five paintings, your choice of what I'm doing."

Instantly, Jack's cheeks grew rosy, "Oh man, I hope it's a girl."

The couple laughed, falling against each other on the bench.

...

Jack took Rose to a small café that was in upper New York, much further than what they typically travelled. It was new and exciting, however. The café was quaint and luckily not too busy due to it being early in the lunch hour still. The floors were a classic black and white tile. The linens were red and white and Rose wondered if it was for Valentine's Day or if it looked like that year-round. After the waitress had handed them menus and disappeared to fetch their drinks, Rose found herself starving as she read all the descriptions. Nearly everything sounded appetizing and never in her life had she found herself so torn over what to choose to eat. Eating in the past had simply just been a fact of life, something she did because she had to. Now, food was beginning to mean everything to her.

When the waitress returned Jack ordered a chicken salad sandwich with potato crisps. The waitress grinned and made note of his request. She then turned politely towards Rose, who was still stewing over what to choose. Oh, what the hell, Rose finally told herself, looking up at the patiently awaiting waitress.

"Can I have a small bowl of tuna salad, a side of potato crisps, a half-portion of salmon with boiled asparagus, a grilled cheese, and two pieces of toast?" The waitress was motionless for a moment, obviously thrown off-guard, but after a beat she fell back into it, scribbling furiously. She double checked the order before she disappeared, collecting their menus.

Jack grinned, placing his elbows on the table, "Hungry?"

"That's an understatement," Rose blushed furiously, "I'm sorry. Everything just sounded so good."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Jack shook his head, "It doesn't even have to be your birthday, Rose, you can eat anything and as much as you'd like."

"Are you trying to fatten me up?" Rose turned her head coyly at him.

"Nothin' wrong with a little meat on the bones," Jack laughed, almost sheepishly, "Today is your birthday. If you want an excuse to indulge, here it is, my treat."

"Did you see the waitresses face?" Rose snorted as a laugh came up her throat, "She was horrified," Rose laughed more openly now. Even Jack found himself cracking up.

Two waitresses had to deliver their meals. And the other waitress was even more perplexed than her co-worker as she was directed to clutter it all on Rose's half of the table. After they disappeared back into the dining room, Jack and Rose laughed all over again. Rose's mouth was watering as she looked over the sea of dishes in front of her. The fork easily broke the salmon apart and it melted like butter in her mouth. She began helping herself to a scoop of tuna salad while she took a bite off a tenderly boiled stick of asparagus. She multi-tasked as she ate a little bit off every plate she had ordered. Jack watched, his smile never wavering, as he ate his sandwich and potato crisps at a steady rate. Even stuffing her face, she was angelic. Jack felt a surge of love wash over him as he took a sip of his lemonade and continued to observe Rose.

That's my girl, He thought to himself with a big grin.

...

As the afternoon waned on, Jack and Rose found themselves simply walking through New York City, hands clasped. The conversation never tired. It was effortlessly fun and involving. They people watched as they strolled through districts they rarely ventured into. They window shopped, amazed to find woodburners and textile manufacturers nearly in their backyard. It was as if they were visiting New York City for the first time together. They eventually wandered back into known territory as the sky began growing orange. The streets did not die down, however. In fact, more people were coming out as dusk broke over the city. The sound of washing waves reached their ears as they descended a few curt steps, walking out onto the desserted docks that were harboring no boats. Together, Jack and Rose seated themselves at the end of a wide and long dock, staring out towards the endless horizon of water.

"This is where the _Carpathia_ docked," Rose said after an extended silence. She looked to Jack in the next moment, her skin glowing in the setting sun.

"Is it? I don't remember much on that ship," Jack replied, also meeting her eyes, "I don't think I even woke up until May. It's all a little fuzzy, even after all this time. I don't know if I even remember what happened after I lost you on the Titanic."

"Good," Rose looked back out on the sea, watching the white capped waves, "It's better not to remember. So you don't have anything to hold yourself prisoner to. It took me a long time to not dwell on those past events. It wasn't until recently I was even able to have them ungrip me, free me, from their misery."

"I don't want you to be unhappy," Jack said softly, laying his hand over her's on the dock.

"I'm happy, Jack," She whispered, "I'm the happiest I think I've ever been in my entire life," She lowered her eyes for a moment before she willed herself to look to his refreshing blue eyes, "You taught me how to not let go."

Jack's heart was hammering in his chest as his free hand cautiously reached into his pocket, gently crazing the velvet box he had stowed away, "Rose..." He whispered, pressing his forehead against her's. She gripped his arm tenderly, basking in his touch, "Marry me," He said. Rose's eyes shot open and she lifted her head to see Jack holding an open velvet box out towards her, displaying a modest and dainty ring. Rose's breathing hitched in her throat as she cocked her head at him.

"I will," She said, her entire body shaking, "I will marry you, Jack."

Slowly, he lifted the ring from the box and tilted it, allowing the last of the sunlight to bleed over it, "Look," He whispered, grinning at her. Rose leaned in towards the ring, spying an engraving on the inside.

_You jump, I jump_.


	47. Daydream Believers

Chapter Forty-Seven

_March 6th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

It was a beautiful crisp spring afternoon. Jack and Rose found themselves in the office of their house, back-to-back, as Jack worked on a painting and Rose focused on writing. The one big window in the room was naturally open and the curtains waved gently in the breeze. Rose straightened her back and rubbed it sorely. Her stomach was becoming more noticeable these days and she had been forced recently to buy maternity dresses. Rose felt wide and cumbersome, but Jack insisted she was a petite cute pregnant woman. Rose had been working hard on her novel and regularly conversed with Thomas, who eagerly dug for updates. The excerpts she had sent him were met with shining praise and gave Rose the hope that maybe she was meant for this after all. Her eyes wandered towards the sparkling ring on her finger as she typed. She smiled to herself and cocked her head back towards her paper, squaring her shoulders as she continued.

Jack peaked over his shoulder at Rose when he heard the lull in her typing. But when she picked back up, he smiled and returned to his nearly finished painting. It depicted a scene of lush green rolling hills, littered in tulips, daffodils, and other foliage. Beyond the final hill was the beginning of a fresh pine forest. The sky was a radiant blue. He decided he was going to frame it and mount it on the wall in the baby's nursery.

In the next moment, Rose gasped sharply, her hands stopping abruptly and hovering over her keys. Her eyes widened and she looked down. Jack nearly dropped his palette as he whirled around and came to the back of chair, "What's wrong?" He asked.

Rose said nothing. She lowered her hands to her stomach slowly and sat there. After a few moments, she reached for Jack's hand and grinned, placing it against her stomach. That's when Jack felt a movement against his hand. He felt his eyes grow wide as saucers, too, as he rounded the chair and knelt beside Rose, staring at her stomach. He stared intently at her dress, as if trying to see through her. Slowly, his eyes wandered towards Rose and he grinned crookedly.

"I feel like there is a term for a moment like this," Rose said gently, watching his hands on her.

"Yeah," Jack smirked, "it's called the quickening."

"And I'm supposed to be the author," Rose chuckled. She paused, however, when she felt another kick, "They're really tossing about in there."

"Violet's gonna be a fighter."

"Oh, you're so sure," Rose teased, placing her hands over his, "I think a lanky little James would be more adequate."

"Well," Jack laughed haughtily, "you're wrong. It's a girl. I just know it."

"And how are you so certain of that?" Rose asked.

"If I believe hard enough, I think I'll be right," Jack told her, his grin never wavering. His boyish charm still made Rose's heart leap.

"What if I told you I believed twice as much as you that it was a boy?"

"You'd be nothin' but a daydream believer," Jack's eyes twinkled in the warm afternoon light.

...

_March 10th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose's cheeks were flushed from the rather warm walk to the café. When she entered, she was pleased to feel a fan nearby circulating cool air. Rose gazed around the café until she spotted Tim, who was tucked in a booth, hunched over some papers with a cup of coffee. She made her way down the aisle and paused at the vacant booth, setting her hand against the brown vinyl.

"Hello, Tim," She said.

He lifted his eyes and grinned, but paused, "Hi, Rose. Good to see you. You're looking well."

"I think the word you're looking for is large," Rose deadpanned, setting her satchel on the booth and hobbling into place, "I'm sure that's all Thomas will see, too."

"We all know what happens when a woman is pregnant," Tim raised his hand dismissively, "Thomas has four kids, any-how. He's been around the block, I think," Tim caught the attention of a waitress to order a fresh coffee and Rose ordered a lemon water with a bagel slathered in cream cheese, "So, what are you bringing to the check-in meeting today?" He asked, folding his hands over his papers.

"Well," Rose brushed a loose strand from her face and reached into her satchel. Tim gazed at her, nearly longingly, admiring her glowing porcelain skin in the light. Her rosy cheeks. Her soft pursed lips. He nearly shook as he recalled how much he missed her, how much he had stuck deep into the pits of his stomach. Even carrying another man's child, he desired her and wanted her for his own. He clung to any moments he got to spend with her, even if she was now only a client and friend. Rose lifted a stack of papers from her satchel that were tied together with brown parcel string, "I finished the first quarter of the book. Still a little rough around the edges," Rose slowly thumbed through the pages. Tim watched her slender fingers closely, "It's sixty-eight pages, so it probably needs to be cut down a little. I don't feel like I've made much headway in the plot. I seemingly get muddled in details and side stories."

The waitress set their new beverages and breakfast on the table. Tim grinned as he took his first fresh sip of coffee, "I'm sure it's amazing, Rose. I don't think Thomas will want to strike a single word. What you write is gold on a page, Thomas said it himself."

Rose laughed lightly, her bagel hovering in front of her lips. She flashed him a pearly smile and he felt his insides ooze, "Don't inflate my ego before the meeting!"

...

_March 10th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

As they waited for the elevator to arrive in the lobby, Rose couldn't help but continually smooth her dress of non-existent creases over her swollen belly. She fluffed her hair, checking the strength of her bun and she whipped any strand of hair away from the frame of her face. She squared her shoulders and let out a huff. Tim watched with arched eyebrows.

"Hey, it's going to be fine," Tim told her, pressing his hand to her shoulder blade. He nearly trembled as he felt the cool fabric of her dress against his skin, "You've already impressed them, Rose. I'd say you nearly have them eating out of your hand."

"What did I say about ego inflation?" Rose replied, giving him a rather nervous smile, "It never hurts to continually strive to impress. They hold the future to my dream. In many ways, I'm not in control, so I'll bide my time as properly as I can."

Tim could almost sigh in adoration at her stubborn nature. He still admired her intelligence, her patience, and her determined mindset. Any betrayal or hurt he may have felt from Rose was completely dissipated from his mind. He still boundlessly loved her and wanted her. If she told him she wanted to be apart of his life in that way again, he wouldn't think twice about taking her back, picking up right where they left off. Tim knew, he was much self-aware, of the rather toxic nature it was to be with Rose in any physical way. He knew it was a bad idea to attempt to surround himself with Rose, but he couldn't help himself. He was addicted to her.

"Well," Tim finally cleared his throat and glanced to his briefcase at his side, rather sheepishly, "I think you look good. You don't even have to try."

"If there's one thing I know about society, Tim, it's that everyone pays a lot of attention to how you look on the outside," Rose turned her head to Tim as they heard the creak of the elevator lowering into the lobby, "But if you want their respect, you have to be better than that on the inside."

"You do get better," Tim replied, nearly falling head first into her deep green eyes, as beautiful as rolling lush hills in the countryside, "Each layer, there's something more exciting about you. You get more and more wonderful the more you uncover."

Rose blinked slowly, her peach colored eyeshadow sparkling in the skylight overhead of the lobby. The elevator attendant ripped the gate open, drawing her attention away from him. He felt a heat leave his body as her eyes no longer lingered on him. They were taken to the very top level of the building. The elevator was ridden in silence. The attendant stood straight as an arrow, his gloved hands folded in front of him. He pulled the gate open and bid them good day, and together, the lawyer and expecting author went through the tall and dark oak doors into the publishing company's office space. There was a constant hum of chatter, the rustling of papers, and the thunk of hurried feet weaving between the maze of desks laid out. Tim and Rose walked along the perimeter of the slush-diggers, gazing towards them as the agents read a page and either stamped it or threw it out in a bin beside the desk. Rose couldn't help but sigh in relief at being past that portion of the task.

Tim and Rose steered into the first conference room that Thomas preferred to use because it had the best view of New York City. They were there first, as usual. Thomas seemed to be a rather busy man, but always did everything with a great big smile, so it was easily forgiven that sometimes he arrived late for meetings. Tim was quick to pull a chair out for Rose to be sure she got off her feet. She thanked him quietly and seated herself, setting her satchel on the table. Tim slowly wandered towards the window, digging his hands into his pockets. He looked over the tall looming city, holding in a sigh. As time had waned on from January, his feelings had only intensified, and thoughts of Rose were all the more prevalent. He tapped his foot rather anxiously as he wondered how long he could remain her lawyer. How soon would it be until he had to helplessly refer her to a colleague? And then how would he deal with not seeing Rose anymore?

The door opened, drawing Tim away from his inner ruminations. He turned to see the wide and burly Thomas coming through the door with his briefcase at his side. He grinned widely when he spotted his awaiting company. He swung the door shut behind him, his thunderous voice ringing out, "Hello and good afternoon! Let me just put all this crap down. Sorry I'm late. We just had a meeting about the curving interests in the general public," Thomas slammed his briefcase onto the table, nearly spilling all the papers cluttered in his arms, "... and some airhead would just not shut up. He was saying the same thing over and over and over again. Only difference was the phrasing! That's why we keep him in a closet crunching numbers, am I right?" Thomas laughed haughtily and Rose suspected he was a lifelong chain smoker, "Anyway," Thomas clapped his hands together, "good to see you, Rose!" He came back around the table and Rose came to her feet to politely greet him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his bushy eyebrows arching, "Now hold on a minute… you didn't tell me you had a bun in the oven!"

Rose's cheeks grew warm and she glanced down at her bump, smoothing her dress again, "Oh, yes… It's becoming more and more apparent every day."

"Well, congratulations," Thomas beamed, reaching his hand out and tenderly taking hold of her's. He pat the top of her hand in a comforting way, "I have no doubt you'll be a fabulous mother. Tim, you quiet bastard, how are you?" Thomas brushed past Rose, giving Tim a pat on the arm, "Let's sit down. I was going to have my secretary order me lunch. Did you two want something?"

"A coffee would be nice," Tim replied, taking a seat beside Rose as Thomas sauntered towards the door, "One for Rose, too."

"Two coffees, got it," Thomas nodded. He opened the door and leaned into the hallway, "Deborah! Can you get three coffees and a cobb salad to conference room C, please? Stat!" Thomas closed the door and let out a long sigh, adjusting his coat on his shoulders, "Alright. Down to business. Never seems like there's enough hours in a day to get everything done," Thomas seated himself across the table from the duo. Tim swivelled his chair to gaze back out at the beautiful spring day. His knee bumped against Rose and he felt his blood pressure spike, "So, Rose, what do you have for me today?"

Tim watched the side of Rose's face as she grinned and placed her sixty-eight page packet on the table, "I have some rough work for the first part of the novel. And about another thirty pages on my desk at home, but I wasn't quite ready to present that yet. This is yours to keep and to provide feedback on," Rose told him, sliding it across the gleaming oak table.

"Wow, wow, wow! Look at all this text!" Thomas exclaimed, thumbing through the pages, "Listen to me when I say, Rose, you sure are something else!"

_Yes, she is_… Tim thought, still gazing at the side of her face, _She really is_…

…

"I'm home!" Rose's voice echoed through the quiet home. She hung her purse on the coat wrack and released her hair from it's bun, sighing as she fingered the kinks out of her curls. She massaged her scalp as she kicked her heels off carelessly and went to the kitchen, on the hunt for a sweet snack. When she opened the ice box, she smiled. Jack had bought a small personal serving of strawberry ice cream, her absolute favorite. Without a second thought, she pulled it out and grabbed a spoon. She hopped up onto the counter, her stocking feet dangling against the cupboards as she dug into the ice cream, relishing in the creamy texture and enjoying the small chunks of strawberries. She paused, her wild hair framing her face, "Jack?" She called again.

More silence. Rose knit her eyebrows together and decided to go exploring. She hopped down from the counter and, while still eating her ice cream, began climbing the stairs. She peeked into their bedroom, which was vacant. She then checked the office, but no one was there either. Rose turned on the balls of her feet and trekked to the other end of the hallway, stopping in the doorway to the future nursery. She lowered her ice cream and grinned. The windows in the room were open to allow the breeze in, but to also provide a draft. The room smelled heavily of different paints. Jack had his back to her and was in deep concentration.

"I thought we were going to just paint the nursery," Rose said. She startled him, obviously. He hunched his shoulders for a moment and gazed behind him. Rose grinned, sticking another spoonful of delicious ice cream into her mouth, "Did I sneak up on you?"

"How long have you been home?" Jack asked, turning towards her now and lowering his pallette.

"Long enough to find the ice cream," She laughed, digging another spoonful out.

"How'd the meeting go?" Jack grinned, dabbing his paintbrush and turning back toward the wall.

"Thomas liked what I had so far," Rose told him, leaning against an unpainted wall and continuing on her treat, "So, typing an entire extra copy wasn't entirely a waste of time."

"I knew it wouldn't be," Jack replied, glancing over his shoulder with a breath taking grin. He made a stroke of rich dark green paint across the wall.

"What's your plan, Mr. Artiste?" Rose asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

"Well," Jack paused now and set his supplies down. He then straightened up, placing his hands on his hips, "behind us you'll see I finished that painting I was working on in the office space," He gestured for Rose to see he had framed it, too, in a dark chestnut brown wood frame, "I decided to continue the scene into a mural across this wall, with the intention to frame this opposite of it. So," Jack turned towards the painting leaned up against the wall beneath it's future home, "when the baby see's this painting above their crib every morning, all they have to do is glance across the room to see they're also in the countryside. I'm going to paint hills and more pine trees beyond that. And the hills are going to roll down into a small river."

"Jack..." Rose lowered her ice cream, gazing towards the beginnings of his mural, "it's going to be beautiful. James is going to be so lucky to have a father like you."

"I think you meant Violet," Jack shot her a side eye.

"I know what I said," Rose grinned, lifting her chin up mockingly, "The baby's inside me, I should know, anyhow."

"Well, you're wrong," Jack shrugged, chuckling all the while.

"Oh, you're just so sure," Rose dug her spoon into her ice cream.

"I just know the next thing I'll be painting after this nursery are those paintings you've promised to me," Jack pointed a paint brush at her as he recollected his equipment to continue, "Trust me when I say, I know it's a girl," Jack paused and grinned, looking to her, "I can feel it, too."

Rose returned the smile as she put some more ice cream in her mouth, "We'll see about that."


	48. Reliance

Chapter Forty-Eight

_March 28th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

When Jack went into the studio that morning, he was surprised to see Iris was at the communal table, her jacket draped over her as she lay her head down. He closed the door quietly behind him and glanced around for Frenchie, but he didn't see him. It was nearly nine in the morning. Jack crossed to Iris, gently placed his hand into her shoulder blade. Her eyes fluttered.

"Hey, Iris..." Jack whispered. She roused from her sleep, her cheek red from resting against her arm. Iris rubbed at the crick in her neck as she gazed up at him, "What're you doin' here?"

"Oh, Jack," Tears sprung to Iris' eyes instantly and she gripped at his arms, "It's horrible. Last night, our mother collapsed unexpectantly. We had to call for help... and... she's not doing well. I stayed with her through the night and Frenchie rested so we could swap out. I... couldn't go home," Iris rubbed at the tears spilling over her eyes, but they did not stop, "I decided to just come here."

"What?" Jack's eyes widend, "Iris, why didn't you come to my house? Why didn't anybody come find me?"

"I didn't want to disturb you," Iris replied, her voice cracking, "Rose needs her rest..."

"Iris..." Jack sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, "She would never stand between me and the people I care about. Besides, she cares for you, too."

"Coming here was easier," Iris finally said, placing her elbows on the table as the tears continued down her flushed cheeks, "This is happening all too fast. It was like this with Papa, too. We knew he was sick but..." She paused for a moment, biting down on her lip, "We didn't know he would be gone so soon," She finally whispered.

"You should go home and get some proper sleep," Jack told her.

"No," Iris looked at him with her bloodshot eyes, "I don't want to be in that home. That's where she fell and she... she bled. I don't want to see it."

"Did Frenchie sleep here, too?" Iris only nodded in response. Jack ran his tongue over the front of his teeth for a moment, glancing around the studio, "What if I went and made sure everything was cleaned first? Would you be okay to sleep there?"

"I don't want to be alone there," She told him.

"What if I sat in the living room and did something while you napped?" Jack offered, "I'll do the same for Frenchie, too."

"You'd do that for us?" Iris asked quietly, tears still brimming her eyes.

"Without a second thought," Jack replied, "I'll take care of everything on the home front. You two just focus on what you can do for your mother, okay?"

Iris took a deep breath and nodded, pushing some hair from her face, "Okay... will you come get me when it's all cleaned up?"

"Yes," Jack told her, "Until then, try to draw something. Clear your mind."

Iris nodded, but made no move to reach for her supplies on the shelf below. Jack lingered for a moment before he was out the door. He went straight back home and bee lined towards the kitchen, where Rose was eating a piece of toast.

"Home already?" Rose asked, perplexed.

"No, just need cleaning supplies," Jack replied, kneeling beneath the sink and taking stock of what they had. He grabbed glass cleaner, tile cleaner, wood cleaner, and carpet cleaner. He threw them into a bag, with a brush and a few rags.

"What for?" Rose came to her feet, adjusting her dress around her noticeable bump.

Jack finally took a breath, setting the bag on the table and explained what he had learned from Iris. Rose listened intently and was obviously mortified for them.

"Let me help," Rose told him, "I'll help you clean and even take shifts with you, staying in the house with them to make them comfortable. Cooking to be sure they're eating."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked, "That won't set you behind on your next deadline, will it?"

"No, certainly not," Rose shook her head, "Come on, let's go."

...

Iris and Frenchie's house was not a far walk at all. Jack used his key to let them in. All the lights in the house had been left on from the night before. Dishes sat on the dining room table beyond the living room. Jack spied some pots lined up on the counter. The house was left as it was, in the heat of the moment, and obviously during dinner. Jack glanced down the hallway of bedrooms while Rose rounded the couch and began towards the dining room table. She stopped abruptly, however, and looked over her shoulder towards Jack, who was setting the bag of cleaning supplies down.

"I found where we need to clean," She told him, her stomach churning at the sight. Jack came to stand beside her and together, they looked down at the floor. Just where the cream carpet met the edge of the kitchen tile was the mess. The carpet was stained a dark cherry red and more dried blood had splattered across the tile. Rose placed her hand on her swollen belly, her nostrils flaring, as she looked down on the bloodiness.

Jack rubbed the nape of his neck, "Irene must have taken a hell of a fall."

"That's... a lot of blood," Rose said, almost unsteadily.

"Why don't you put fresh sheets on the beds and take stock on the pantry?" Jack gently touched her shoulder, "I'll take care of this."

"Okay," Rose nodded. Robotically, she turned and went down the hallway. She found a closet and was pleased to discover they had plenty of linen. She pulled three sets down, the quilts creating quite the burden. Rose set all of it along the wall and started in Iris' bedroom. It was clean and neat besides her desk. Rose slowly approached the back of the chair and gazed down on the workspace. There were many different sketches, some completed, some looking abandoned. Rose looked above the desk to see taped to the wall a very grainy photo. It was of four people, entangled in a mass of arms. Rose recognized Iris, who was much younger, sandwiched in between. She stuck out amongst her family. Her mother, father, and brother were dark haired and dark eyed. Iris was like an angel with her ashen hair and bright blue eyes. Rose's eyes lingered on whom she assumed was Iris' father. Frenchie was nearly the spitting image of the man.

Rose began pulling the sheets off of Iris' bed, thinking about how unfair the universe could be sometimes. Iris and Frenchie had a loving family. It was cruel they had to be separated so soon. Meanwhile, it seemed, Rose and her parents had been destined to fester in misery together forever. Rose shook her head and squared her shoulders as she began pulling new fresh sheets onto the bed.

_That's all gone, _Rose told herself, _Don't be stupid. Don't give in to any of that._

Rose balled up the discarded sheets and dropped them on floor in the hallway, hauling a new set of sheets into Frenchie's room. When she entered, she paused, lowering the quilts in her hands. Frenchie's walls had been completely painted in murals. Beautiful vines, full of blooming roses the colors of the rainbow. Dark stormy clouds giving way to a beautiful sun. Frenchie was even able to convey god-beams, piercing across the abundant foliage he had painted, sprouting from his base boards. When Rose turned to the wall facing the bed, she was stunned in place, to see a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, splayed across a marble slab, full of cracks, and wavy ivy vines. She was wearing a loose white slip, which shimmered in the sunlight. Rose could almost feel the satin it was made of. Her head was tilted back into the sun, her eyes closed, and her lips pursed into a lighthearted grin. Between her slender manicured fingers, she grasped a simple yellow rose. Beyond the carefree woman lay what looked to be ancient Rome, crumbling, and falling apart.

Rose approached the mural slowly, running her fingers along the paint strokes, feeling the texture. She sighed, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to the wall. None of this was right. She wished it wasn't this way for so many people. She craved dearly in that moment to change the world. Some days she wondered if it was fair to bring a child into all of this.

...

Jack returned to the studio to find Iris with her head back down. She hadn't moved from her spot since Jack had left two hours ago. He had to stop at his house and change his shirt. His cuffs had been stained in their mother's blood. He approached her quietly, setting his hand on her back. She stirred at his tender touch.

"Hey, you should go home and rest now. Everything is cleaned up and there's fresh sheets on your bed," Jack told her.

"Aren't you going back with me?" Iris asked, fear and sorrow reflecting in her eyes.

"Rose is there," Jack replied, "I'm going to check on Frenchie at the hospital."

"Okay..." She whispered, lowering her eyes that stung with fresh tears. She came to her feet and for a moment, she thought they were going to give out from beneath her. Slowly, Iris walked towards the door with Jack at her side. They stepped outside to the warm spring afternoon. She squinted against the harsh sunlight with no cloud cover.

"Will you be alright?" Jack asked.

Iris looked at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, "I think so."

...

Rose heard the front door open within an hour of Jack leaving. She had been busy huddled over the stove to make a simple chicken noodle soup in hopes that Iris and Frenchie would find it in themselves to eat. She glanced to the carpet at the edge of the kitchen. Jack had done a great job cleaning the stain. Rose entered the dining room and gazed into the living room to see Iris closing the front door, her wide and tired eyes darting everywhere. She paused when she saw Rose, who was looking at her with sympathy.

"Hi, Iris," Rose said softly, coming to the back of the couch and fiddling absently with a cushion, "Have you eaten today?"

Iris slowly shrugged, shifting her feet back and forth, "I'm not hungry."

"That's fine," Rose replied, "I can understand that. Did you want to take a bath or anything before you go to bed?"

"No," Iris said, walking down the hallway without looking at Rose again.

Rose fidgeted with her engagement ring, chewing on her lip all the while. Rose followed after Iris as the girl walked like a zombie, lazily using her shoulder to barge through her bedroom door. Iris glanced fleetingly at the fresh blankets on her bed. She then went to her closet. Rose appeared in the doorway, watching Iris carefully.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Rose asked, watching as Iris pulled a dark blue cotton nightgown from her closet. Iris laid it out across her bed and without another thought, unbuttoned her dress and let it drop to the floor. It certainly caught Rose by surprise, but Iris didn't seem to care in the moment. She reached for the nightgown and stepped into it, looking over her shoulder at Rose, who was recomposing herself.

"I don't need anything," Iris told her, pulling the blankets back on her bed. She took a moment to fluff her pillows before she seated herself on the edge, the springs creaking beneath her. Iris folded her hands into her lap, anxiously wringing her fingers together.

"Did you... want to talk about it?" Rose asked slowly, leaning against the door frame.

Iris lifted her eyes to Rose, staring at her silently for a few moments, "Not with you, no."

Rose felt herself flush a little before she nodded, "Okay," She whispered, somewhat hurt, "Let me know if you need anything," Quietly, Rose closed the door behind her. She wandered slowly down the hallway, hugging herself around her growing stomach. She let out a long sigh, pressing her back to the cool wall, and closing her eyes.

...

Jack was directed to the second floor of the Central New York City Hospital, room number thirty-four. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, looking at the scene before him. Frenchie was hunched down on a stool with his back to Jack. He was gripping his mother's motionless hand, pressing it to his forehead. Jack could see his shoulders bobbing as he struggled to cry silently. In the bed, Irene laid with her dark hair twisted into a messy knot atop her head. She had an oxygen mask covering her face. She didn't move in the slightest.

"Frenchie..." Jack whispered, his heart breaking for his friend. He approached the side of the sobbing artist, tenderly gripping his shoulder, "I'm so sorry..." He whispered, his voice husky with hurt. Frenchie's head snapped up, his eyes sopping wet. His cheeks were rosy, his lips sputtering together as he struggled to hold himself in one piece. Frenchie gripped Jack's wrist, the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Jack," Frenchie's voice was pinched, "what am I going to do? How can I live without my mother? She's... she's always been there for me."

Jack pursed his lips for a moment, looking gravely to Irene, "Don't talk like that," Jack replied lowly, "This may not be the end, Frenchie."

Frenchie paused and looked at his mother for a moment before he stood, gesturing for Jack to step out of the room with him. Frenchie sighed, closing the door behind him. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his wool cardigan, training his eyes towards his boots, "I know you're an optimist, Jack, but... this isn't looking too good," His eyes became wet again and he rubbed at them sorely. He let out an uneven breath, "I just... I keep hearing the sound of her head hitting the ground," He squeezed his eyes shut, but in the next moment, was looking to Jack worriedly, "Where is Iris?"

"Back at home," Jack told him, "Rose is staying with her while she gets some sleep."

Frenchie let out a long sigh and reached his hand out towards Jack, squeezing his arm. Jack thought for a moment the artist was going to fall over from exhaustion, but he continued to cling to Jack heavily, "I can't thank you enough, Jack... for everything you're doing for us..."

"Frenchie, bud, don't worry about that," Jack replied, "Why don't we get some coffee and give your mom some quiet time?"

Frenchie looked longingly through the window on the door, "Okay. I could use some, anyway."


	49. Tag Team

Chapter Forty-Nine

_March 28th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose got comfortable in the living room at Frenchie and Iris' house. She made herself a piping hot cup of tea and sunk into the cushions on the couch, sighing as her tired back finally was able to rest. She felt her spine radiate as she propped her feet up on the coffee table and set her manuscript on her swollen belly. She withdrew a red pen, ready to begin her corrections. As she made her way to the bottom of the page, a shrill piercing scream made it to her ears. Rose bolted forward, nearly knocking her tea cup off the coffee table. She dropped her work to the floor and sprung to her feet, hurrying down the hallway.

"Iris!" Rose was breathless as she burst through the bedroom door. Iris was hugging her knees, sobbing violently. Rose came to her bedside, sitting down and reaching for her. At first, Iris cringed away from the touch, but she gave in to crying again, uncaring of Rose's touch, "Iris, what is it? Was it a nightmare?"

"My life _is _a nightmare!" Iris screeched with a face that was the color of a tomato. She pulled away from Rose, flicking her hair from her face. She let out a frustrated whimper, trying to wipe the tears away. Iris stood and paced away from her bed, leaving Rose sitting on the edge of the mattress, who felt helpless to Iris, "I thought sleep would help, but even my dreams are as terrible as my real life is!" Iris angrily cleared her desk, sending tubes of paints, pens, pencils, and papers raining down onto the floor.

"Iris," Rose came to her feet and rounded her bed, "please, let's sit down. Take a big deep breath-"

"Screw you," Iris sneered, her eyes still bleary with tears, "You can't even begin to understand what I'm going through," Her voice cracked unevenly and she returned to her bed, sitting down and pulling a quilt over her. She rest her chin on her knees, still trying to rid the salty tears from coming, "I can't lose my mother... I just can't."

Rose was quiet for a while. She looked to her feet, gazing at the mess of art equipment surrounding her. The soft cries of Iris made it to her ear and she watched with a heart of hurt. Iris rubbed her red swollen eyes, sinking back into her pillows and attempting to catch her breath. Rose looked to her growing stomach for a moment and took a deep breath, slowly coming to the side of the bed, "I know what it's like..." Rose said quietly, gripping the wooden bedpost, "... to lose a parent," Iris lifted her wet eyes again, "I know how it hurts... how suddenly nothing makes sense..."

"I don't need you to relate with me," Iris croaked, her lashes heavy with tears.

Rose paused, biting down on her lip. She lowered her eyes and took a deep silent breath, "Why don't I make you a cup of tea? It might help you get back to sleep," Iris didn't reply. She remained propped up in bed, fiddling with the hem of the quilt, as misery festered inside of her. Rose left without another word and headed down to the kitchen.

_Maybe Jack should have stayed with her... _She thought as she pulled a tea bag out and poured a piping hot mug of water from the kettle on the stove, _She would have probably been more comfortable with him, anyway... _Slowly, she dipped the tea bag into the water, watching as the water began to diffuse into swirls of golden brown, _What more can I do for them? It's not easy watching somebody you love die... It's not easy seeing them slip through your fingers. These are the stages of grief, however. I cannot blame Iris for how she's acting. Everyone handles grief differently._

Rose returned to Iris' room. Iris had been staring at the wall and looked to Rose with her scorching red eyes as the pregnant woman slowly approached her, holding a steaming mug out towards her, "Please, drink as much as you can. Your body needs something in it."

Iris clutched the mug between her shaking fingers. Rose decided to pick everything up off the floor. She used the bed to help lower herself slowly to her knees. Iris watched, taking a slow sip of her tea, "Why are you doing all of this for me?"

Rose stopped what she was doing and lifted her head, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "Because I care about you, Iris."

Iris lowered her eyes to her tea, "That doesn't answer my question," She mumbled.

"What more can I say?" Rose asked as she gathered the art supplies into her arms and returned it to Iris' desk. She did her best to remain patient. She recomposed herself, moving her hair from the frame of her face. She turned towards Iris, who was already staring at her.

"How can you say you care for me?" Iris' voice was scratchy. She lowered her tea, her messy hair falling down her shoulder, "You don't know me."

"Well," Rose now came to the foot of the bed, looking over Iris almost maternally, "I know you mean a great deal to Jack, so now you mean a great deal to me."

Iris took another sip of her tea, her red eyes never leaving Rose, "Even after everything that has happened between Jack and I?"

"Iris, none of that matters to me," Rose shook her head, "What's happened in the past is exactly that; the past."

"We went on dates... we made art together... he kissed me," Iris said, seemingly lost in her memory, "And still, after all of that, you're willing to sit here with me?"

"Like I said," Rose replied, straightening the quilts out, "none of that matters, Iris," Rose grinned lightly as she came to the side of Iris' bed, "Besides... how could I blame you for liking Jack? He just has that kind of affect on people."

...

The café attached to the ground level of the hospital was rather grim. The decorations were bland and lacking color. The tables and chairs were blindingly white. The coffee was rather watery. Jack and Frenchie seated themselves at a table along the wall, their coffees unappetizing, but still they drank it anyway. Frenchie rubbed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

"The doctor said we would be lucky if she made it through tonight," Frenchie finally said, lifting his red eyes to Jack, "I don't think I'm going home tonight. Just in case. If she really is going to pass..." Frenchie paused, his coffee cup shaking in his hands, "I need to be here, Jack."

"How did all of this happen?" Jack asked, making a face as he drank his coffee.

Frenchie sighed and shook his head all over again, "She's been sick lately... My only guess is she never truly shook it. Momma has always been a fighter. She's never wanted anyone to worry about her. She's always taken it upon herself to worry for everyone else. Losing my father was hard on her... I imagine it's taken quite the toll on her health."

"A broken heart is it's own disease," Jack agreed, lowering his eyes to his coffee, which was only lukewarm, "Frenchie, I'm just so sorry this is all happening. Rose and I of course offer our deepest sympathies."

"How did you deal with it?" Frenchie asked, "What did you do when you lost your parents?"

Jack waved his hand rather dismissively, "I, uh, really don't think my experience is relevant, Frenchie. My parents died in a freak-accident. And I was much, much younger."

"But how did you cope?"

Jack pursed his lips for a moment, rolling his shoulders out, "I didn't. For a long time."

"I'm worried I won't know what to do anymore," Frenchie told him, deflated like a balloon, "I feel like I have to be strong for Iris. But... I'm afraid all of that strength is gone, Jack."

"You'll know what to do when and if the time comes," Jack said before taking another sip of his coffee, "It always seems like the end of the world and yet the sun rises another day."

Frenchie cradled his head in his hand, "I wish I could take your head and screw it onto my body so I could know what to do. I'm a grown man. I should be able to just deal with it. But it feels like my entire world is falling out from beneath my feet, Jack. I'm about to lose the final person who inspired me to make art. My two biggest models, the people I adored most, are dying right in front of me. It was hard when we lost my dad... but my mom was my rock through it. Now, somehow, I have to be that rock for Iris."

"Everything's going to be okay," Jack insisted, "I'm living proof right here for you."

...

Rose was now busy working on her manuscript in Iris' bedroom. She was seated in her desk chair, facing towards her big window with a view of the small backyard the family had. Iris was still propped up in bed, unable to even dare to attempt to fall asleep. She had a new warm mug of tea and was simply watching Rose as she scribbled ferociously on page after page. Iris fidgeted with the lip of her mug for a moment before taking a curt breath.

"How did you know Jack was the one?" Iris asked. Rose paused abruptly from making a note and lifted her eyes. After a few moments, she turned in her chair to face Iris.

"You know... when I think back to the first time I saw him, I wonder the same thing," Rose told her gently, "I try to ask myself what it was about him. He was an entire deck below me. We were from two different worlds. At a first glance, it looked like we had absolutely nothing in common," Rose grinned as she recalled the memory, "But, I think the answer to your question would be his eyes. The way he looked at me. It was much different than how I'd ever been looked at before. I trusted him before I ever spoke to him."

"Did you seek him out?" Iris asked, tucking an ashen lock of hair behind her ear.

Rose lowered her eyes for a moment, her grin never wavering, "No, I didn't. But fate did for me. When we were on the _Titanic_, it wasn't a luxury cruise for me. It was a ship taking me to a prison. I was heading straight into doom and I decided I had to gain control," Rose paused, looking at Iris who seemed to be holding on to every word Rose spoke, "So, I decided I was going to jump off the ship. Whether I drowned or succumbed to the cold, I didn't really care. But Jack stopped me... He saw me and he talked me back over the railing. The most important part was he saw _me. _Not who I was supposed to be pretending to be."

Iris lowered her eyes to her tea, fidgeting with her blanket. Rose gripped the back of her chair, still watching Iris carefully.

"What about you?" Rose asked softly, "What drew you to him?"

Iris was obviously surprised by the question. She was silent for a few beats before she shrugged, rather helplessly, "I guess it was his eyes, too," She replied with a weak scratchy voice, "He so easily made me feel comfortable around him. He was open. And... he was willing to give, even when he had nothing for himself," Tears brimmed her eyes, her voice becoming pinched as she grinned weakly, gazing towards Rose, "My mother would always joke that I read too many romance novels. She would claim my head was up in the clouds with my standards to match. She thought I was too obsessed and picky with finding love, as if it had to echo the text I had read," Iris let out an uneven laugh, rubbing the tears from her flushed cheeks, "Maybe she was right. But when Jack showed up on our doorstep, it was like I was falling into the pages of another novel."

Rose smiled and came to sit on the edge of Iris' bed. She reached out, gently grabbing hold of her hand and lacing their fingers together, "I know exactly what you mean, Iris."

"I think I had forgotten the most integral element of those romance novels," Iris told her, grinning despite the tears in her eyes.

"What's that?" Rose asked, arching her eyebrows.

"That timing is everything," Iris replied, "If it didn't work with Jack, then my true love is still out there, right?"

Rose smiled gently, squeezing Iris' hand, "That's right, Iris."


	50. Echoes From the Universe

Chapter Fifty

_March 29th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

The clock on the wall had just struck past two in the morning. Jack's back hurt from the stiff chair he had been planted in for nearly three hours. On his shoulder was Rose's head. She was nodding in and out of slumber. Jack wanted to take her home, but she had insisted they remained at the hospital with Iris and Frenchie. They had both been awake for nearly twenty-four hours at that point and fatigue was beginning to rear its ugly end. Even Jack found himself nodding off, only to catch himself and perk up, making Rose's eyes flutter. He rubbed his face and let out a long sigh, tilting his head back against the wall. He shuddered to think that right on the other side of the plaster behind him, Irene was taking her final breaths. Jack's mind was clouded in distant memories of his parents. He could see them dancing in their socks in front of the fireplace on Christmas Eve. He could see his mother's pearly smile as she skated gracefully across thin ice. He could see his father's big burly figure chopping wood in the blistering wind to be sure the family could stay warm. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to close down the memories.

He reached through his armrest and pressed his palm to Rose's swollen belly. He let out a sigh, doing his best to focus on that. Jack tried instead to imagine the future. He didn't want to wallow on the past. He was powerless to change that. But just beneath his hand, there was a viable future. One that he was in control of. One that he had an obligation to make right, on account of all his wrongs. He focused on what he needed to do to complete the nursery. All the projects he wanted to do. Like building a sandbox in the backyard. Even a see-saw. He imagined all the paintings he would do of the baby as it napped. They would have so many, some wouldn't even be able to hang on the wall. Jack focused the last of his energy into loving the unborn child, as if it was already there.

The door to Irene's room creaked open. Rose's head snapped up at the sound, bumping against Jack's jaw. Immediately, Rose rubbed her eyes and straightened her hair, looking anxiously towards the door. She lowered her hand to Jack's on her belly, gripping it tightly. Iris and Frenchie wandered into the hallway somewhat dazed.

"She's... uh.. She's passed," Frenchie told them slowly, as if it was still sinking in.

"She died peacefully..." Iris croaked, a river of tears flowing down her face, "The doctor's said she wasn't in much pain."

"Frenchie... Iris..." Jack came to his feet and dug his hands into his pockets. He paused and shrugged, "There are no words. I'm just sorry."

"It's okay," Frenchie said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He wrapped his arm around Iris' wiry shoulders, "I think we'll be fine. We'll keep making art... we'll keep on living. It's all we can do. Right, Iris?"

She swallowed roughly, pursing her lips, "Yeah... It's all we can do for the time being."

"We'll do something to honor her," Jack told them, "I promise."

...

_April 2nd, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

It was a beautiful fresh spring day out. However, it fell forgotten on Jack and Rose as they got up and began dressing grimly for Irene's funeral. They were quiet. Jack buttoned his black shirt with his eyes cast down. Rose pinned her hair atop her head without bothering to look at herself in the mirror. She was the first out of the bedroom door and wandered down to the kitchen, getting the coffee pot brewing. Jack followed her shortly after and pulled some fresh fruit off the counter, handing Rose an apple.

"It's going to be a long day," He told her quietly, "A long exhausting day."

"Do you think the newspapers come?" Rose asked, setting the apple on the island and pulling the curtains back on the window above the sink, "If Irene's funeral announcement is in there, I'd like to clip it out. They usually include nice photos of the person," Rose said. Jack nodded, knowing all about that.

"Probably has come," Jack said, beginning for the door.

"I'll get it," Rose told him, brushing past, "I want some fresh air, anyway."

Rose stepped out onto the front porch and took in a deep breath. It was a crisp day. She was pleased to know she wouldn't even need a light coat. The temperature outside was absolutely perfect. She began down the stairs and towards the end of their foot path. She spotted the newspaper, laying amongst the dewey grass. She knelt down carefully and picked it up, unfolding it as she walked back towards the house.

She thumbed through a few loose pages, passing sports news, world news, and Hollywood news without a second glance. As Rose slowly began back up the porch steps, she found the announcement column. Right on top was Irene's funeral announcement. Rose paused on the stairs, staring sadly at the paragraph. They had used a nice picture of her, however, sandwiched between Frenchie and Iris lovingly. She was about to continue back into the house, when the next bold headline announcement beneath Irene's caught her eyes. Rose felt her body grow cold and begin to quake. Her stomach tossed violently, so much so, she was sure she was going to be sick.

_**WALL-STREET TYCOON, CALEDON HOCKLEY, TO MARRY ARISTROCRAT ELIZABETH FULLTON APRIL 4TH, 1914, AT THE DIAMOND BALLROOM ON FOURTH AVENUE AND SECOND STREET.**_

Rose went back inside rather stiffly. Jack was just finishing up their coffees and was setting them on the island when she came back inside. Robotically, she grabbed her apple and seated herself at the island, staring straight ahead, as Jack put her mug infront of her.

"You okay?" Jack eyed her as he shined his apple on his shirt, "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I... I might have," Rose breathed, still not looking at Jack.

"Was it Irene's funeral announcement?" Jack asked, picking the newspaper up for himself.

"No, no," Rose shook her head, "Look underneath it."

Jack was silent for a few moments, his nose stuck into the newspaper, "Well I'll be goddamned. Never thought I'd see that smug face again," He lowered the paper now, looking to Rose, "Who is Elizabeth Fullton?"

"Hah, believe it or not," Her coffee mug hovered in front of her lips, "She actually was in the same class as me at prep school. Our families were friends."

"Hm, sounds to me like he doesn't venture outside of his social circles much."

"What made you think that?" Rose teased after she took a sip of coffee.

"Wonder if I show up early enough, I could get a chance to throw eggs at him and his five hundred dollar Italian suit," Jack tapped his finger to his chin.

"Oh, absolutely not," Rose perked up, "He thinks we're dead. And that's for the better, trust me."

"Do you really think I would do that?" Jack laughed, "I'd _pay _to never be in his general vincinity ever again. And I bet that goes double for you."

"It does," Rose replied without a moment of hesitation. But in the back of her mind, a pit of curiosity was beginning to bloom.

...

The walk to the studio was quiet, but short. Rose watched a group of young boys race by on bicycles. She observed as they weaved between each other, coming close to a crash, but continuing while impishly giggling all the while. Rose grinned to herself as she turned the corner for the final stretch to the studio. She hoped to see her child like that one day, surrounded by friends, and enjoying the world through the eyes of a kid. Entering the studio, however, lead to Rose walking into a different type of atmosphere.

Frenchie and Iris were seated at the communal table. They were holding hands, their heads bowed. The studio was silent. Jack caught the door behind them, being sure not to let it slam. Rose was careful in her steps to not allow her heels to echo. She folded her hands in front of her round belly, watching the siblings closely. Iris had her eyes squeezed shut, her hand clenching her brother's tightly. Rose lowered her head, as well. She could feel her hands trembling as she recalled her past that more and more had been catching up to her. Rose lowered her eyes to the dirty concrete floor, her mother's face filling her vision. She hadn't attempted to remember her mother in nearly two years, but there she was, with her matching emerald eyes, her curly short red hair, and her forever exasperated pursed lips, sealing away a barrage of insults and a novels-worth of judgement. Rose felt her skin pucker in goosebumps as, for the first time in two years, she recalled her mother's sharp voice echoing through her mind. Rose stiffly lifted her head, trying to shake the past from creeping up onto her.

"Jack, Rose…" Frenchie came to his feet, gently sliding his hand along Iris' shoulders, "Thank you for being with us on this day. It truly means a lot."

"Frenchie, we wouldn't miss it for the world," Jack replied, "She was like family to me, too, anyway."

Frenchie smiled weakly, lowering his eyes to the floor, "Yeah... she always said how much she liked you."

Iris rubbed at her flushed cheeks for a moment and heaved a sigh, looking over her shoulder at the people dressed as grimly as she was, "Maybe we should get going," She said with a scratchy voice. She brushed her hair from her face, looking to her brother, "We don't want to keep Father Stephen waiting."

...

The group of four stuck out like a sore thumb on that fresh spring day. They walked in silence, side by side, as they weaved through the outskirts of downtown New York. Rose watched Frenchie's black woolen coat drift behind him, grazing her legs. She couldn't help but shutter as she recalled the last funeral she had gone to; her father's.

It had been mid-October when he passed and the day of his funeral was greeted by a steady chilling downpour. Rose's legs had been splattered in ice cold water, her shoes leaving soggy blisters around her ankles. Rose shook her head, immediately shutting those thoughts down. She exhaled heavily through her nostrils, flaring them, as she begged herself to stop.

_"Rose, dear, my deepest condolences. I know your father was an honorable man."_

He wasn't, Rose recalled. But she had bitten her tongue.

_"Rose, John was a special man. You were so lucky to be nurtured by a man of his magnitude."_

He was horrible and ugly.

"Hey," Jack's hand touched her arm and Rose nearly leapt from her skin, "are you alright? Do you feel okay?"

"Yes," Rose nodded, turning her eyes forward, "I just... I don't like funerals."

Jack smirked, "I don't think anyone finds any joy in 'em."

Rose allowed herself to smile at Jack's gentle teasing. It was the only thing that could relax the knots in her stomach. She took a deep breath and looked to Jack, "Did your parents have a funeral?"

"If anyone held one for them, I didn't know about it," Jack shook his head, "I was out of Chippewa Falls within thirty-two hours. Who knows... they probably think I was in that house, too."

"My father's was pure misery," Rose said, looking away from him, "Not because he died... No, that was not the upsetting part. What was worse was seeing all those fake people, only there to show face. The ones that thought he was a remarkable man. The lies of the integrity of his character every person who spoke spewed," Rose paused, her blood throbbing in her veins, "He was a wretched mean-spirited man who enjoyed making people miserable. He fed off it. A man like him deserved to be in the ground," She paused abruptly, looking to Jack, "I'm sorry... that was terrible to say."

Jack simply shrugged, "Why? 'Cause it was your father?" Jack shook his head, "I believe you when you said he deserved it," Jack laced his fingers through Rose's, "This funeral will be different. We're mourning, sure, but we're also celebrating what a wonderful woman Irene was. This is someone who brought joy and made an impact. This will be different, I promise."

"You're right," Rose whispered, her voice feeling pinched, "The past can't define the future."

Slowly, tall iron-wrought fencing began to run along them. Rose peered between the bars as they walked. Her eyes looked over all the marble headstones. There were large oak trees in the cemetery, casting long shadows across the resting place of dozens. The group stopped in the open gates, soaking in their envrionment.

"Many of our family are buried here," Frenchie said, looking out amongst the property, "Our mother's parents, our aunt, my father and his two brothers..."

They heard the creak of a wooden door and turned their attention to the corner of the property. Emerging from a small quaint cottage was the caretaker of the cemetery, Father Stephen. He was an elderly man with a slight hunch in his back. He wore a long black robe with his signature white collar. Around his shoulders was a white silk shawl. He raised his hand in salutations as he walked down the gravel path to meet them. Tucked under his arm was a frequently used and worn Bible.

"Good morning, Mr. and Miss Cohan," Father Stephen bowed slightly once he had approached the group, "God has graced us today with beautiful weather to remember your mother by. Come, you know where your family plot is. Nathaniel dug the plot this morning. All should be ready."

Stiffly, everyone walked along the winding path. Jack looked to each name they past and even felt himself shudder as he saw some had been there for decades. Behind an oak tree facing the back of the property, they came across a hole. Jack paused, looking beside the freshly dug plot to where Frenchie and Iris' father had laid since 1910. Now, just four years later, his wife would finally lay beside him again. Iris clenched her hands into fists, feeling overwhelmed by the emotions flooding over her. Rose felt her insides growing cold as she slowly lifted her eyes to look at the mahoganey coffin laying beside the hole. It looked as if it had been polished just that morning. It glowed in the overhead sunlight. Rose reached for Jack's hands, her eyes never leaving the coffin.

Father Stephen took his spot beside Irene's future resting spot in front of the group. He cleared his throat, holding his Bible against his chest, as if it would feed him strength, "Good morning, everyone. I know the reason for our gathering is not precursored in happiness, but again, I ask you to look to the clear blue sky and relish in the fact that we are here to remember a woman who made the world as bright as this spring day," He grinned, almost paternally, "I've known Irene personally since 1899, when her own mother passed away. She was the first of this lovely family to be buried here. Irene was more than just a wife and mother. She was also an artist. She never made art for herself, oh no, every piece she ever made was gifted to someone. Even I received a quilt from her in her time here on this earth," Father Stephen paused, looking over his audience, "We bury her today in sorrow, but the feeling of gratefulness for knowing her, the feeling of love she gifted us, is what we will leave today with and carry with us for the rest of our lives. Irene Polk-Cohan was a child of God and I know, she is resting with Him now, safe in His arms, for us to not worry about. Her children, Frenchie and Iris, are her flesh and blood, and will carry her spirit in each of their steps. She may be gone physically, but never shall she be forgotten in our memories. Never will we take for granted the time each of us had to spend with her. Her belongings may never be held in her own hands again, but we are still fortunate to touch the things she once did. Today, we do not mourn, but rather, we rejoice. We celebrate God in thanks for giving us a woman like Irene. For it is not every day you meet a woman of this magnitude," Slowly, Father Stephen opened his Bible. Frenchie wrapped his arms around Iris, who had a river of tears flowing from her eyes, her body visibly shaking. Again, the Father cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, "From John 14... _Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am..._"

Father Stephen slowly lowered his Bible, "I spoke that verse at her mother's funeral. Irene had expressed great comfort in a verse such as that. Out of honor, I read it today, over her resting body. May God bless her soul and bless the people she left behind. May He light the way for those who feel lost without her physical-self. For we are not less without her, but more with her memory," Father Stephen set his Bible down on one of the roots from the oak tree and reached for two shovels. Slowly, the elderly man outstretched them to Frenchie and Iris, "Children... let us lay your mother down one last time, as she had done for you in times of your youth."

Iris and Frenchie took the shovels into their hands and slowly dug the heads into the mound of dirt. Together, they took turns tenderly dumping the dirt over their mother's coffin, tears blurring their vision. Rose felt her body wracked in sorrow as she watched the siblings cover their mother into the earth. Father Stephen hummed lowly, a hymn, as Iris and Frenchie continued. After a few more scoops, Iris collapsed in tears, falling to a kneel and letting the shovel clatter to the ground beside her. She pressed her sticky palms to her face, shaking her head. Immediately, Jack stepped in, slowly guiding her beside Rose. He took the shovel into his hand and alongside Frenchie, helped him bury his mother.


	51. A Curious Deer in the Headlights

Chapter Fifty-One

_April 4th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose's body woke her up before dawn broke. The milky moonlight still shown bright through the silky curtains covering their windows. Rose rolled onto her back, looking towards the long shadows falling across their ceiling. She let out a sigh, slowly lifting her hand to rest on her swollen belly. She blinked rapidly, trying to will herself to fall asleep again, but she remained wide awake. Rose felt as if her mind was racing yet she thought of nothing in particular.

She rolled onto her side, facing Jack. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to count as high as she could, in hopes that she would doze off during her menial task. But as she counted, a face came to the forefront of her mind and she started in the bed, opening her eyes wide. Rose's heart beat wildly in her chest, her nostrils flared, as she attempted to catch her breath silently. She lifted her eyes to Jack, observing him as he continued to sleep in peace. She was almost never awake before him and took those moments to watch him.

Half of Jack's face was sunken into the pillow, his blond hair falling across his forehead, just above his dark bold brows. His breathing was so rhythmic, Rose tried breathing at the same time as him just to calm her nerves. She could feel her blood pulsating beneath her skin as she closed her eyes and focused again.

_Think of something happy, _Rose told herself, clutching the quilt tightly in her hands, _Think about a beautiful sunny day... with all the windows open... _Rose focused untensing her body, _Think about the sound of your typewriter, ferociously echoing down the hallway as your mind blooms with so many ideas..._

Rose took in a deep breath, readjusting her head against her pillow, _Just imagine how things will be when the baby comes... Imagine the baby gazing at their walls, painted to depict beautiful rolling countryside hills... Imagine taking the baby to see those hills in real life..._

She let out a long sigh, grazing her hand against her belly, _Imagine baby James, with those beautiful blue eyes and sandy blond hair... imagine him walking towards you, his arms outstretched. Imagine him looking at you and seeing his entire world, his role model, his protector..._

_ "I had hoped you would have come to me last night, Rose."_

Rose startled herself, writhing beneath the sheets. Quickly, she stilled herself to not disturb Jack. Luckily, he didn't even stir. Rose's breathing shallowed. The quilt felt tremendously heavy on her suddenly. She shook her head, ruffling her fingers through her curls. She gave up. She was never going back to sleep.

Carefully, Rose slipped out of bed, pulling a cotton robe around her nightgown. She padded down the stairs quietly in woolen socks, glancing towards the clock to see it wasn't even four in the morning yet. She entered the dark kitchen and lit a candle, setting it on the island. She went about to readying her coffee, shaking her head in dismay at being up so early. She sunk into a stool at the island, cradling her head in her hand.

The flickering candle light brought to her attention an old newspaper sitting on the counter. Slowly, Rose reached across, lifting the inky text into the orange light. _April 2nd, 1914. _She heaved a sigh, laying the newspaper flat onto the counter in front of her. She thumbed through the newspaper almost hesitantly, until she finally rested on the announcements page again. She tapped her slender finger to her chin as she gazed over Irene's funeral announcement. Slowly, her eyes sank lower and lower, until they rested of the picture of Cal Hockley with his arm laced around the lace of the blonde hair and blue eyed Elizabeth Fullton.

Rose examined the picture closely. Cal was staring towards what seemed like a barrage of cameras swarming them. He almost looked to be mid-sentence, with one arm gesturing out. Elizabeth was wearing a heavy furcoat, her blonde hair treated into tight curls that fell around her shoulders. She was smiling towards Cal, her slender manicured fingers touching his neck.

_**New York City, New York - **__It seemed as if the world hadn't heard about the Hockley family in the entirety of 1913. Nathan Hockley, owner of propserous Hockley Stocks and Consulting, had disappeared from the public eye in the wake of the Titanic maritime disaster that is rumored to have set the Hockley family back by quite a bit. But since the beginning of 1914, Nathan Hockley has allowed himself to be interviewed and photographed at business meetings once again. In February of 1914, a photograph emerged of Nathan and his son, Caledon Hockley, speaking quietly to each other admist the fiasco of the Wall Street bidding floor. This was the first public sighting of Caledon Hockley since his departure of New York City in the aftermath of the Titanic, losing his finacée Rose DeWitt Bukater, daughter of textile genius John DeWitt Bukater, in what he claimed to be 'a careless oversight by White Liner'. Good news has emerged for Caledon Hockley, however, as he prepares for his wedding to Elizabeth Fullton, daughter of farm mechanical equipment designer Robert Fullton. The wedding will be held on April 4th, 1914, at the Diamond Ballroom. The ceremony is due to begin at noon with a late lunch served at the reception, beginning at 1:30pm, at the same location._

Rose lifted her tired eyes to stare at the flickering candle light. She let out another long sigh and folded the newspaper up. Slowly, she lowered her head to rest on her arms and closed her eyes, not caring if she fell asleep at the counter, because all she wanted was to drift away in that moment.

...

Rose never actually fell asleep again. She ended up laying down on the couch in the living room and amused herself by her new ability to balance things on her swollen stomach. She grinned to herself as her coffee cup precariously sat atop her belly. She tested different books out, as well as pencils she found in the drawers of their sparse furniture. It wasn't until after seven that she finally heard Jack shuffling about upstairs. She shifted her head on the pillow to look towards the stairs as she heard him clunking down.

He was fresh out of bed with wildly molded hair and a ruffled white undershirt. Jack looked rather perplexed as he came to the base of the stairs, but he flashed her a groggy smile upon seeing her bathed in the first mornings light beneath the large picture window overlooking the backyard. Jack raked his messy hair from his face as he came into the living room.

"Hey, you," He said, stepping onto the carpet, "Imagine my shock to discover _you _were the first one awake this morning," Jack leaned down, tenderly pecking her on the forehead, making her eyelashes flutter, "Have you been up long?"

"No," Rose lied, shaking her head, "I just woke up and couldn't fall back asleep," She shrugged rather sheepishly, "I have a lot of ideas for my novel that I'm stewing over."

"Well let me make you a fresh cup of coffee," Jack said, picking her mug up from the side table, "What do you want for breakfast? Toast? Boiled eggs? Some fruit? Oh, I picked some yogurt up yesterday on the way home. It sounded healthy."

Rose smiled, cocking her head up at him. Her curls splayed around her head, almost like a fire ready to consume the couch, "Maybe just an orange?"

"_Just _an orange?" Jack cocked his eyebrows up. He crossed to the nearby love seat and grabbed a cushion, bringing it back to Rose. She tucked it behind her back, sitting upright and lacing her fingers across her belly, "No, no. You need more brain food than that if you're going to be writing all day. Let me make you something."

"Here, I'll help-"

Jack stopped her from swinging her legs off the couch, "No, stay here. I'll be right back."

Rose sighed but her grin never wavered. She resettled herself on the couch while Jack went to the kitchen and began opening cabinets and clanging silverware together. Rose looked out the window at the beautiful day. The sky was still bathed in sherberts with swirls of blue as the light made its presence known, sending the milky moonlight away. She lowered her chin to rest on the back of the couch and watched the only tree in their backyard sway in the gentle spring breeze.

_I can't be sad when this is my sight every morning, _She told herself, blinking slowly, _Why do I let the past still take hold of me? Why can't I seemingly let it go and forget about it? My life now is almost the definition of perfect to me. I got what I wanted, why do I feel the way I do?_

The next moment, Jack returned to the living room as a balancing act. Slowly, he lowered a ceramic bowl full of yogurt dusted in cinnanmon with raspberries and blue berries covering the top to Rose. She felt her mouth water almost instantly. She had no idea she was even hungry. Rose took the bowl into her slender fingers and immediately reached for the spoon.

"And if m'lady had her heart set on an orange, I've brought you a peeled one," He grinned boyishly as he set a small saucer bobbing with orange wedges down on the table. Her coffee, renewed and steaming, accompanied it. Jack seated himself on the nearby loveseat with a bowl of oats sprinkled with raw sugar, "So, you're just gonna stay home and write today?"

Rose lifted her eyes from coating a blueberry in yogurt, "Maybe go for a walk," She shrugged.

"It's good to stay active," Jack nodded, crunching down on his oats, "I hate to think you just stay cooped up in the house all day."

"You know me," Rose grinned, putting her silver spoon in her mouth, "I thrive on fresh air."

...

Jack left shortly after ten to go work at the studio. Rose found herself sitting in her office for nearly an hour after that, simply hovering over her work. She couldn't focus. She didn't know what to write. She looked between all the laid out papers and the shoehorned leaflets but she couldn't decide which part she wanted to work on, reconstruct, and she couldn't find the motivation to start from where she left off and write whole new material to drive the story forward.

Eventually, Rose resigned with a huff. She walked to the open window, gazing into the backyards of her neighbors. Her fingers clenched the windowsill as the gentle breeze brushed some stray curls from her face. She gazed out towards the distant New York City, her eyes hopping from skyscraper to skyscraper. Rose found herself fixated on the sharp skyline.

In the next moment, she turned distinctly on the balls of her feet and marched into her bedroom. She pulled a long sleeve black dress out with a white belt. She dressed herself quickly, carelessly disregarding her nightgown on the floor and leaving her used woolen stockings dangling precariously on the headboard of the bed. Hurriedly, she seated herself at her vanity mirror and went above pinning all her curls against her head. She fluffed them carelessly and went back to the closet, pulling down the one hat box she owned. She pryed the lid off and lifted the black floppy sun hat from the box, inspecting it and straightening the silken headband on it. She lowered the hat atop her pinned curls and used the one hat pin she owned to secure the hat in place. Standing in the mirror, Rose took the time to adjust the hat to tilt forward, casting a shadow over her face.

With a hammering heart, she left the house, walking briskly downtown, towards fourth avenue. She walked with her shoulders squared but her eyes trained down. She had to physically restrain herself from clenching her jaw and curling her hands into fists. She had to tell her brain to stick out her left foot, followed by her right. She had to focus on breathing evenly, or she feared she would make herself collapse right there on the grimey concrete. Rose came to the stop at a street corner, waiting for the OK to cross. She took the time to roll her shoulders, in hopes of pushing the tension right out of her body.

She heard the sound of brass chimes and lifted her head, holding the brim of her hat. Rose squinted as she gazed upwards to see a nearby church with a large clock face on its tower. It was signalling 11:45am. Rose returned to waiting for her signal.

_Why am I doing this? _She finally thought to herself. Cautiously, she gazed around her surroundings. Everyone who passed her did so without giving her a second glance. Rose rubbed her sweaty palms against her skirt, _Just a peep. Just a small glance. It's almost as if I need to see for myself the prison sentence I narrowly escaped... It's time to remind myself how lucky I am. How much I have to look forward to._

The moment the signal flipped over, Rose hurried across the street. As she continued down the next block, the sound of a strings quartet began to reach her ears. She slowed her pace, feeling her breathing shallow again. Just up ahead, she saw many crisp well dressed people. Rose adjusted her hat over her face and slowly came up on the jubilation. The string quartet was set up just beside the tall glass doors entering into the high ceiling ballroom. Rose gawked at the building. She had never been near it before, but had heard of its luxuries from customers when she was a waitress. A steady stream of people dressed to the hilt were filing into the ballroom with only minutes to spare before the ceremony. Rose watched the people flow past two nicely dressed servants, who were waving people through with silky white gloved hands. Rose recognized a few of the faces passing by as people who had been on the outskirts of her social circle in Philidelphia. It was haunting and Rose wondered if she was putting the past to rest or torturing herself by exposing herself to it. No one bat an eye at her, however; a familiar feeling she had grown accustom to her in red-taped childhood.

As Rose watched the steady stream of attendants, she felt as if the floodgates of her past life had been opened. There were Harold and Annabelle Harrison, the old grumpy couple that lived next door to Cal's father. Harold owned an oil business. They were native Texans who had a twang in their accent and always complained of the Philadelphia humidity. Rose almost couldn't believe they were still alive. Just a few bobbing heads later she spied her father's closest friend, Daniel Clark. Rose felt as if her blood was going to turn to slush in her veins. She hadn't seen that man in nearly half a decade. He still had his scary dark beady eyes. His hair had turned ashen over the years, but she remembered in her youth that he had been a very sandy blond man. He was wiry and age was becoming very apparent on him. Rose recalled the man's dark sense of humor and his ability to always make her feel uncomfortable in his presence. She turned her head away as he entered.

Just on the other side of the bustling crowd rushing into the ballroom, standing along the curb, was someone that made Rose freeze in place. It was her mother. She looked thinner than the last time Rose had seen her, if that was even possible. She was speaking with a rather large man who was wearing a freshly pressed suit and a short top hat. Ruth checked her complexion in a compact mirror before firmly flipping it shut and looking to the man, obviously awaiting his action. Immediately, the man stuck his elbow out to Ruth and gingerly, she linked arms with him. Rose disappeared back the direction she came before they could turn her way. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she moved quickly and dove into the alleyway behind the ballroom, where a sleek black car was parked. Rose pressed her shoulder blades to the grimey wall and pulled her hat from her head, uncaring of any loose curls falling from her up-do.

Rose struggled to catch her breath for a few moments, her throat pinched and throbbing, her airways seemingly mangled. Even after everything that had happened, even though Rose wasn't the one marrying Cal, Ruth was still attending the wedding. The very idea baffled Rose, but at the same time, she couldn't act surprised. Her mother had to show face, always. And even though she thought she had lost her daughter, she would never show the adversity it caused her. Rose wondered if Ruth even cared that Rose was gone from her life. Rose lowered her eyes to the alleyway ground, her eyes lingering over a murky puddle. In that moment, she assumed, her mother was probably relieved she didn't have a daughter like Rose to watch over any longer.

Suddenly, Rose felt eyes on her. She looked to her left to see a congregation of men in matching tuxedos with yellow buttercup silken ties. They were all enjoying one last cigarette before the wedding ceremony. Rose looked like a deer caught in the headlights, tears brimming her eyes, as she looked towards the groomsmen who were eyeing her just as cautiously. And amongst those men, the only one wearing a yellow bowtie, was Caledon Hockley. Rose was stunned in place as she laid eyes on the man who had haunted her, hurt her, and made her second guess her every decision. Not a thing had changed about him. He was still lean and tall with signature Hockley squared shoulders. He still had that wispy chestnut hair and bold brows. He still had those dark eyes and chiseled face. His facial expression nearly reflected that of Rose's. His cigarette hovered in front of his lips before he lowered it, forgetting it entirely.

The languid movement of his body coming through the groomsmen nearly startled Rose. She pushed away from the wall and backed away as Cal emerged forward. He still looked to be processing what he was looking at. He looked bewildered, confused... almost hurt. Rose's shoulders were rising and falling faster and faster. Her heartbeat took of wildly, her blood throbbed beneath her skin. She felt her body temperature rising while her fingertips grew cold and numb. There he was, in the flesh. Someone she swore she never wanted to see again. Someone she promised to never be like. It was the man she made an example of in her life to stray away from. He was there in front of her, almost exactly two years later.

"Rose," Cal said and his velvety voice cut her like a knife.

_Move, you fool! _Rose yelled at herself, _Get out of there! What are you doing, staring at him like this? None of this was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be seen. I wasn't supposed to see any of this._

"Rose... is that you?" Cal said again, flicking his cigarette on the ground, staring at her absolutely confounded.

"Cal," One of the groomsmen spoke up, "it's time. You better tell your guest to get into the reception hall."

Cal ignored them. Instead, he focused on examining Rose from top to bottom. She was certain she was quite the spectacle, dressed like she was attending a funeral, her hair pinned tightly to her head, and her swollen pregnant belly jutting out, completely unavoidable.

"It's really you..." Cal whispered, his lips barely moving.

"Cal, let's go," Another groomsmen said, "I can hear the organist. We're supposed to already be out there."

"I never thought I'd see you again..." Cal continued, oblivious to his groomsmen. He knitted his eyebrows together, as still, he struggled to come to terms with what he was seeing, "You... you haven't aged a day, Rose. Your eyes... they're still as green as the last time I saw them..."

Rose's head throbbed uncomfortably. She was certain she was going to hit the ground, right there, in front of the eight men. She took a deep uneven breath, her voice chased away. Her eyes lingered on Cal. She had nothing to say.

"Rose DeWitt Bukater," Cal said softly, as if the name scorched his vocal cords.

She couldn't stay a moment longer. Rose whirled around and raced from the alleyway. It was the fastest she had ever run in her life. She didn't bother to wait for signals to cross the street. She was honked at by cars, but she only waved at them in a flustered manner before hurrying on. Once she was on the outskirts of her neighborhood, she finally stopped. She carelessly dropped her sun hat into the grass and seated herself on the green knoll overlooking the winding neighborhoods tucked down below. Her cheeks were flushed and she huffed and puffed to catch her breath. Rose pressed her forehead to her knees.

_That wasn't supposed to happen._


	52. Figments of the Past

Chapter Fifty-Two

_April 4th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose didn't stay on the grassy knoll for long. She felt the urge to get up and walk again. This time, she went the opposite direction of the Diamond Ballroom. She felt as if she could see hear the squealing of the string quartet and the brassy church bells in her ears as she ventured down to the piers reaching out into the river. A few of the boards creaked beneath her step as she eased herself down onto the pier. She set her sun hat on a bench and undid her the pins from her hair, allowing the salty breeze to fling her curls back. Rose tilted her head into the sunlight and took a deep breath.

_I've done a very stupid thing, _She thought to herself as seagulls squawked overhead, _He saw me. What if he discusses this with my mother? They could try coming after me again. I've given them the hope that I really am alive and their's for the taking afterall._

Rose opened her eyes to watch a steamboat in the center of the wide river chug along the rather choppy waves. Gently, she tucked a curl behind her ear, her eyes following the black smoke billowing from the short stacks.

_That's silly, though. For Cal, what would be the point? He's finally caught his break. And now, he's officially sealing his inheritance, as I stand here. I'm dead to him on many accounts... maybe just not physically, anymore. And besides... my mother would never be able to find me. Not in a city like this. She'd take a single glance at me and toss me aside like rubbish. She can't fix me now. I'm much too far gone by her standards._

Rose plopped down on the bench beside her hat and set her head against the metal railing poking up behind the bench. She laid her hands to rest on her belly and huffed, _I'm going to have to tell Jack of the stupid things I did today. I couldn't possibly keep this from him. Especially after I made such a big deal about not popping by in the first place. God, I'm so stupid. Why did it matter he was getting married? What was I wanting to see? Everything I did see... it was unwanted. Has my brain turned to mush?_

Rose closed her eyes again, the spring sun sinking into her skin. She heard the toot of the steamboat as it approached a bend in the river, disappearing from her sight. Rose smoothed some creases out in dress, keeping her eyes closed. After a few moments, she couldn't help but smirk to herself.

_I'd never seen that man so confused in his entire life. Come to think of it, can he really conclude that I was there? He could probably convince himself, in his desperate efforts, to think I was meerly a ghost of the past, visiting him on an important day, one last time. His groomsmen most likely saw me, but you know confused men... they laugh and shrug it off. They chalk it up to something else entirely. Not enough sleep. Stress. Too much to drink the night before. And I know Cal... he'll do anything in his power to avoid having to interact with my mother..._

Rose looked around her now. She was completely alone on the deserted pier. She smiled tot herself, _I'm stupid, yes... but the timing was actually impeccable. I suppose I got to see what I wanted. All this time, I think I was worried I had thrown a cog into everyone's lives. But in fact, everyone looked fine. After all this time, I think we can all finally have what we wanted._

Rose grabbed her sun hat and marched off the pier. The studio was not a far walk at all and she found herself there within the next twenty minutes. She felt she had a renewed energy for the day and walked into the studio to find a big mess as three artists focused and painted. Iris and Frenchie had thrown themselves at art in a new energy, Jack had told her one evening. In the two days since their mother's death, they operated on a new level of passion. Almost as if they had seen their own lives pass before their eyes. Rose let the door swing shut heavily behind her. In a domino effect, Iris, Frenchie, and Jack all gazed towards the door.

"Oh, hey," Jack was the first to react. Quickly, he slid down the ladder and tossed his pallette onto the crinkled up floor mat they had gathered beneath their canvases, "Everything okay?" He asked as he hurried around the table towards her. Gently, he reached out and touched her arm.

"Do you have a moment to speak?" She asked quietly, though she was aware her voice echoed through the studio. Jack nodded without a second thought.

"Yeah, of course," He told her, "Let's go to the storage room in the back," Jack gestured and guided Rose into the backroom, filled with old useless or broken equipment. He flicked the light on and the lamps squealed before finally kicking on. Jack set his hands on his hips and turned to Rose expectantly, "So, what's going on?"

"Jack, I've done something rather stupid," Rose told him. She watched confusion ooze into his eyes, "But actually, I think it was a rather marvelous thing to do for myself."

"Okay... you have my attention," Jack's eyebrows knitted together and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright, the stupid part was that I went to go do a walk-by of Cal's wedding."

"Rose-"

"_But,_" Rose interjected, lifting her hand, "I saw my mother. And she looked okay. I think that was important for me to see and know."

"Rose, that _was _a stupid thing to do," Jack shook his head, rustling his blond hair, "Someone could have seen you! You're the one who said it was best we remained dead to them. You're unmistakable. You're easy to spot from a mile away. Someone had to have seen you and you know the rumor mill, it never stops. Those people are so antsy to spill the juicy gossip, I'm sure they're doing it right now in hushed whispers during the ceremony. Why would you do that, Rose?"

"Like I said," Rose nodded, "It was stupid."

"What made you do it?" Jack asked, rather seriously, "After everything that Cal has done to you, what he put you through, what he made you feel like... why would you go seeking him out?"

"I wanted to know... if they were happy," Rose replied slowly. Jack's face softened.

"What does it matter if they're happy?" Jack asked quietly, "They didn't give a damn if you were happy or not, as long as you were playing their game. Why do you do this to yourself? You feel the need to take on everyone's burden and shoulder it for yourself. It's not good for you, Rose. All that should matter now is if _you're _happy," Jack paused for a moment, never breaking eye contact with her, "Are you happy, Rose?"

"Yes... I am," Rose told him, "I'm sorry, Jack... I just had to know. Sure, they may have done cruel things to me, plagued me in self-doubt and nearly self-hate, but those were the only people I knew before this. Whether I like to accept it or not, they impacted me. They molded me. They're the reason I am the person I am today. And when those people showed up on the fringe of my life again... well, I just couldn't help myself. Curiosity killed the cat, right?"

"What did you see?"

"My mother. She was with a gentleman I'd never seen before. I suppose maybe my own mother remarried. It must have been her only option after I was gone," Rose replied, "I saw some of my family's old friends. And I saw Cal. He saw me, too."

"You're joking, right?"

"No," Rose shook her head, "He saw me."

"Did he talk to you?" Jack asked.

"I don't think he really thought I was there."

...

After Rose left, the trio continued to paint for the next four hours. Jack was completely absorbed into his mind, left stewing over what Rose had said to him. He was surprised by Rose's rather reckless decision. He still couldn't decide what truly made her do it. As he recalled what she had told him, he panged in hurt to know she absorbed everyone's despair for her own. Rose was too empathetic. And it was nearly a miraculous thing to him, seeing as the people she claimed molded her, were too focused on themselves to see beyond the tip of their nose.

When Frenchie, Iris, and Jack finally decided to call it today, Jack cleaned his supplies up quickly and left before the siblings. Instead of taking his normal left to head towards his neighborhood, Jack continued straight. Ahead of him, he kept his eyes trained on the tall cluster of skyscrapers marking New York City's bustling downtown. He walked briskly and with purpose. The streets were filled with people going home, their ties let loose, and a tired motion in their step. But Jack walked against them, a purpose in his stride, as he crossed the streets and wound through the back alleyways of the city.

He turned the corner in a tight alleyway, carelessly splashing through a murkey puddle. Up ahead, just before the narrow way spilled onto the street, Jack spied a black sleek car. He glanced towards the building it was parked up against and recognized it as the Diamond Ballroom. He paused, sticking his hands in his trouser's pockets. He could hear the distant noise of people and music through some open windows above. Jack pulled his cigarettes out and lit one, leaning against the wall. After a few moments of him standing there alone, wondering why he was even there, the back entry of the ballroom opened and two line cooks stepped out, their coats draped over their shoulders. It was obvious they were taking off for the afternoon.

_Curiosity killed the cat, right, Rose? _Jack thought to himself. He watched the men carelessly wind around the car, leaving the back door ajar. Jack could see through to a kitchen where a number of employees were bustling about. Jack flung his cigarette to the ground and nearly leapt across the alleyway. He bounded through the door and shut it, quickly hurrying down the narrow hallway that lead around the kitchen. He brushed past waiters carrying trays of discarded dishes and glasses. Jack kept his head down and walked fast. None of the employees questioned him, however.

Up ahead, Jack saw two black swinging doors with circular windows. Just through them, he could see a low-lit room with high vaulted ceilings. He slowed his pace for a moment and adjusted his suspenders on his shoulder and raked his fingers through his hair. Jack took in a deep breath before he urged himself to barge through the doors. The ballroom was filled with over two-hundred people. All the large circular tables were filled with people laughing, chatting, and dining. The dance floor was filled with dozens of people gracefully sweeping in circles around each other. A full band, complete with brass and woodwind instruments, covered the stage with endless music. Jack was nearly overwhelmed at first and he spun around, taking his new environment in.

"Excuse me, sir!" A woman raised a gloved hand. Jack stayed in place for a moment, before she waved at him again, "Yoo-hoo, sir," Jack finally found his muscles and crossed to her, leaning down, "Could you bring us another round of moscato? The good brand, not that supermarket stuff that Mrs. Elizabeth Fullton's mother requested."

Jack looked to the woman for a moment and then glanced around the table. He supposed he was dressed shabby enough to look like the help. He nodded awkwardly and walked away, wandering towards the bar as to not draw attention to himself as an unwanted guest. A few clusters of people lingered close to the open bar. Not many were seated at it. Jack approached a stool and seated himself, hoping he was out of view of that table. He accidentally bumped elbows against the man sitting beside him. He turned to apologized and felt as if all the air had been squeezed out of him. It was Cal.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, what is wrong with me," Cal ground his teeth together and downed his whiskey. Automatically, the bartender refilled his drink, "It's supposed to be the best day of my life and yet I'm being haunted. What did I do to deserve this?"

Jack folded his hands on top of the bar. The bartender served him his own glass of whiskey. Jack decided to drink it, to give himself some liquid courage for the situation he just found himself in. Slowly, he licked his lips and looked to Cal, "Isn't the groom supposed to be one of the guests of honor?" Jack asked, "Why are you sitting at the bar?"

"Even as a ghost, your annoying wit never ceases," Cal shook his head, grasping his glass tightly, "Why are you here, Dawson?"

"I heard that you were in town," Jack shrugged, drinking more of his whiskey.

"Oh, is the newspaper delivered to the bottom of the ocean?" Cal asked, rather snottily. Jack smirked to himself behind his glass. It was obvious Cal was drunk and extremely frustrated, "First, Rose, now you. What do you two want from me?"

"Nothin'," Jack shook his head, "We don't want anything at all."

"Then why have you both come to me on my wedding day?"

"I dunno... seemed symbolic," Jack said, rolling his shoulders.

"You two have been living in New York City this entire time?" Cal turned his bloodshot eyes on Jack, "You two have been under the radar for this long. Why come out and blow it now? You know Ruth is here, right?"

"We're not blowing anything," Jack replied, "Ruth will never believe you saw us. Especially when she sees how much you've drank," Jack grinned and raised his glass to him before taking another drink, "Congrats on the marriage, by the way."

"You haven't changed, Dawson," Cal stared forward again, "Whether you're real or a figment of my past, you're still that annoying little rat you were on the _Titanic_."

"You know, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Cal."

"How lucky am I to have a drinking mate like you at my own wedding," Cal muttered, "How did you get in here, anyway?"

"I have my ways," Jack said, calling the bartender for a refill, "So, where's the lucky lady?"

"Probably with her entourage," Cal replied, drowning himself in whiskey.

"Hmm, you don't sound too pleased. You should be on top of the moon. Aren't you now the sole person to inherit Hockley Stocks and Consulting?"

The bartender refilled Cal's drink and he took a long sip before looking to Jack, "I don't know why I'm telling you, Dawson, but she wouldn't be my first pick."

"And you're suggesting Rose was?" Jack cocked an eyebrow up.

Cal ground his teeth together for a moment and Jack relished in his frustration, "She's carrying your child, isn't she?"

"I'm pretty sure it's mine."

Cal gripped his crystal tumbler tightly in his hand, "You're much more clever than you look."

"I don't think I'm clever," Jack shook his head and set his drink on the bar, "I just think I'm the first person who's ever beaten you, Cal. You say you always win. Well, I'd go back and double check that streak of yours," Jack smiled again, toasted his glass to Cal, and threw back the rest of his whiskey. He stood and stretched for a moment, patting Cal roughly on the shoulder, "Congratulations, bud. I'm glad we could have this little chat. I gotta get home; I'm pretty sure your wife is looking for you, anyway."

Jack brushed past Cal and headed for the exit just as Elizabeth swung in, wearing a large decadent white gown. She was surrounding by over a dozen girls whose job were to fawn over the beautiful lady. Excitedly, Elizabeth tugged at the drunken Cal's arm. He looked over his shoulder one last time to see Jack slip out the door, allowing the evening light to bleed into the dark ballroom. As Elizabeth peeled him off his stool, he wondered if that really had just happened.


	53. Fateful

Chapter Fifty-Three

_May 10th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

And just like that, time moved on for Jack and Rose. Nothing ever came about with their encounter with the past. Nothing ever appeared in their mailbox. Nothing was ever printed in the newspaper. And nobody showed up on their door step. Life returned to normal. Rose marked day after day off the calendar hanging above her desk. New York City was swelling with warmth as they reached the cusp of summer. The days were full of cerulean blue skies, few clouds, and stuffy heat. Most days, not even the windows open created enough of a draft for Rose. But still, she worked diligently over her typewriter, eager to finish her story. The days drawing near to completion were coming and it sent tingles down her spine just to think about. She figured the story would be finished for final review by mid-June.

Rose had a meeting with Thomas that day in Manhattan. It was nothing formal and did not require the presence of Tim. She had spent the past four days re-typing the new chunk she wanted to present to Thomas for critiques. That morning, she was hunched over the island, using parcel string to tie it together delicately. She was intently focused on getting the knot just right. Jack turned from the coffee maker, placing two ready-to-drink mugs on the counter. He grinned as he watched Rose, her hair piled messily atop her head.

"You know, he's just gonna cut it off when you give it to him," Jack teased, taking a sip of his coffee.

Rose lifted her eyes, brushing a stray curl from her face, "We delicately wrap birthday presents just for them to be ripped open, too."

"Touché," Jack lifted his mug towards her.

Rose fidgeted with the string for a few beats more before sighing and reaching for her own coffee, "There. I think that looks alright. Now I just need to brush my hair and change and I'll look as good as that knot."

"You could walk in to my office just like that and I'd be blown away," Jack grinned boyishly.

Rose rolled her eyes, her smile never wavering, "Oh, if only you were my agent."

"Well, you'll do great today. You already have them eatin' out of your hand and you're not even making them money yet. I wish I could go with you, but Frenchie and I have two commissions to deliver today. One is all the way in New Jersey."

"Will you be back by dinner?" Rose asked, drinking her coffee and peering with her big green eyes over the mug at him.

"I don't know what time I'll be back," Jack shrugged, "How about I pick something up on the way home? I don't want you cooking something and letting it get cold."

"Would you take mercy on us and get a pizza?" Rose smiled sweetly, pressing her hand to her belly. Jack nearly melted at the sight.

"Of course," Jack stepped closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. He leaned in to her face, his lips hovering inches from her's, "I'm sure it's what Violet would want, too."

Rose let out a light airy laugh, shaking her head and brushing her curls against him, "It's James, you idiot," She said, before pressing her lips to his.

...

_Manhattan, New York_

As summer began to wane on, so did the family vacations. The train was much more cramped than Rose remembered, but luckily, a kind gentleman had offered his seat to her. It was stifling warm the entire way out and Rose's cheeks grew red. She resigned to putting her hair into a bun to prevent it from sticking to the back of her neck. She was swept off the train as many people got off at the same station as her. She nearly had to squeeze past everyone to get by on the street and it only made her feel large and insecure with her jutting belly leading the way.

Once she got into the cool lobby, she decided to seat herself and cool down. The receptionist kindly brought her a glass of water and Rose thanked her as she fanned herself, hoping to lose some color from her face before the meeting. After about a ten minute break, she felt rather refreshed and she took the elevator to the top floor. When the attendant slid the gold gate back, Rose was greeted by the usual loud, boisterous, and turbulent publishing office. The buzzing of typewriters, the sound of people's voices, the thunk of leather sole shoes to the thin carpeted floor. Rose was directed towards the usual meeting room, the one with the beautiful view of Manhattan. She let herself in and was content to know she'd be only for the next ten minutes.

Rose took her time arranging her things on the tables before she crossed to the window to take in the beautiful view. There were many small ant-like figures bobbing past on the streets. Even lots of cars and carts that day. She knew most of the crowd was probably flocking towards the direction of the river. Some may have even been boarding the train for the trip out to Coney Island. It was so beautiful out, it was the perfect day for an excursion. Rose grinned to herself as she considered the future of Jack's excursions with their little human in tow.

The door of the conference room opened and she was surprised Thomas was so early from his last meeting. She turned to greet him but stopped abruptly in place as she saw Tim closing the door and smoothing his tie. He gazed across the room at Rose, seemingly frozen in spot as well.

"Tim, what are you doing here?" Rose asked softly, "I thought it was agreed I could do this meeting on my own."

"It was," Tim nodded, slowly coming further into the room. He set his briefcase down on the ground and placed his hands on his hips, drawing his coat backwards, "I just... I wanted to see you."

"Why's that?" Rose tucked a curl behind her ear, "Was there something you needed to tell me?"

Tim licked his lips and sighed, lowering his eyes for a moment, "No, nothing like that."

"Then... why are you here?" Rose asked again, "You didn't come all the way to Manhattan without a cause."

Tim was quiet for a few beats, shaking his head, "I've missed you, Rose."

"Tim, please," Rose said, "my meeting is due to start any minute."

"I know and I'm sorry," Tim crossed towards Rose, "I can't just keep it bottled up inside me, Rose. I have to see you as often as I can. It's the only way I can feel better."

"I guess I just don't get it," Rose lifted her eyes to Tim's, "After everything, Tim... You still want me? You could have anybody in the world."

"I don't wany anybody else in this world," Tim told her.

"You know where this conversation leads to," Rose replied.

"I know," Tim sighed, "I just can't stop myself from wondering what would have been between us..."

"Like, if you had never taken me to that art show?" She whispered.

"Rose," Tim lifted his soft hand to gently cusp her cheek. She felt her heartbeat spike at his touch, "I understand and I respect your past. I know why things are the way they are to you. I know what you've been through. I see where you want to go. There's nothing more I want to see than you getting all things you want and deserved. I want to be there with you, every step of the way. I've never felt this passionate about anything or anyone ever before. And I'd be stupid to let it pass by me. You asked me once if we only ever got one shot at love. I'm starting to think we do, Rose."

"Do you think... fate is really that cruel?" Rose asked softly, her eyes glassy in the afternoon sunlight, "That it would only give us _one _shot in our entire lifetime, yet damn you to someone whose one shot... doesn't align with yours?"

"But I've never felt so sure about anything in my entire life," Tim whispered huskily, "The people of your past, the ones who had you trapped, I won't let them get to you anymore."

Rose's head throbbed as she suffered a wave of déjá vu.

"I don't care about what's happened, Rose, I don't," Tim insisted, stroking her cheek with his thumb, "I accept you in your entirely. I'll love you in your entirety."

"Tim, no," Rose said as firmly as she could, blinking away any tears stinging her eyes. She gripped his wrist, lowering his hand from her cheek, "I love Jack. If this baby I'm carrying or this ring on my finger isn't enough to convince you of that, I don't know what will. We can't change what happened in the past, no matter how much we want to."

"You are the most amazing woman I know," Tim told her.

"Find someone even more amazing, then," Rose said.

"I don't think I could. Even if I tried."

Rose shook her head, lowering her eyes. Gently, Tim brushed his fingers along her chin, making her tilt her head up. His lips mets her's. It wasn't forceful by any means. That sort of action did not exist in Tim's muscle memory. The kiss was shortlived, but Tim relished in every moment of it. As Rose pulled away, the conference door opened again and Thomas entered with his normal large grin.

"Sorry to keep you waitin'," His loud voice boomed as he carelessly kicked the door closed behind him. Rose held steady eye contact with Tim for a moment before she brushed past him, coming along the back of her seat and resting her hands on it, "Tim, I didn't know you were coming. Glad to have you, partner. I'm afraid it won't be a long meeting and it certainly won't be logistical. Sorry you felt like you had to come all the way up here, but Rose and I are just havin' a short chat. I see a pretty large parcel for me on the table!" Thomas smiled and pulled a seat out for himself, lowering down into it. Rose put on a grin herself and also joined Thomas at the table. Tim lingered for a moment, staring out the window. He felt totally gutted, but after a moment, his involuntary lawyer-self came through. He presented himself with a smile and sunk down into a chair beside Rose.

...

_New York City, New York_

Frenchie had ordered for a cart with two large horses to help with the deliveries. When Jack arrived, the two men loaded up the large paintings and draped them in quilts to prevent dust and elements from harming them. Jack sat on the back of the cart, his legs swinging back and forth. Frenchie clapped his hands together.

"So, I have good news for you," Frenchie said, putting his hands on his hips.

"Oh, what's that?" Jack asked, cocking his eyebrows up.

"There's some new office building being built on the north side of town. I guess they heard about us through some other channels and they would like us to paint a few scenic scenes to hang in their office," Frenchie told him.

"Hey, that's awesome," Jack grinned.

"But the bad news is, the big hot-shot who owns the place is apparently in charge of _all _aspects of the building. It's already taken awhile to finish the building itself due to the owner being rather flighty. He takes lots of excursions and is gone weeks on end on vacation. Yet he insists he gets the final word and OK's everything. I have to have a meeting with him to secure the contract," Frenchie explained, "And he sprung it on me yesterday that the only day he can meet is today."

"So... I have to take this cart and the paintings all the way to New Jersey by myself?"

"No, that would be dastardly lonely," Frenchie shook his head, "Iris offered to accompany you."

"Well, that will be fine," Jack shrugged, "It was gonna be our first road trip together, Frenchie. Really would have bonded us as brothers."

Frenchie laughed at this, "I think we've already crossed that bridge, Jack."

"Alright," Jack hopped down from the cart and stretched for a moment, "let's go get Iris. We need to get a move on. I have to get back before the pizza parlors close."

...

Once Jack and Iris got out of the city with the cart, they felt they could finally sit back and relax. They hadn't considered just how slow a carrt was and surely annoyed many car drivers on the road. Especially when they glanced over their shoulder to see the long line behind them, slowly creeping along, almost like a funeral procession. The large wooden wheels rumbled over the dirt path lined with trees, as Jack and Iris headed south, in the direction of New Jersey.

They found themselves rather bored after just an hour on the road. They both had their feet kicked up on the reign holder, gazing around at nothing in particular. Jack looked to the tall pine trees waving in the summer breeze. Occasionally, squirrels emerged from the bristles and leapt to another tree. Iris bored counted the amount of large smooth stones she saw. Her eyes hopped boulder to boulder, pertruding from the uneven earth just off the flattened path. She blew a whisp of hair from her face and tilted her head back, her cheeks flushing in the bright sunlight.

"How many hours was this trip again?" Iris asked, closing her eyes and focusing on the warmth radiating against her skin.

"I think five... maybe closer to six," Jack shrugged, allowing the reigns to dangle between his legs, "At the pace we're goin', I reckon six."

"And tell me why Frenchie didn't rent something with an engine in it," Iris grinned.

"Well, honestly, we probably wouldn't be able to get these paintings into a car," Jack replied, glancing towards the sunbathing Iris, "And it was probably way too expensive to rent a car, anyway. This is fine, though. This is how our ancestors did it."

"I could get out and walk faster than this."

"You're more than welcome to, if you wanna stretch your legs," Jack laughed, looking towards the path unfurling in front of them, "Looks like we're heading into some shade. That's good. I don't want to return you to Frenchie lookin' like a tomato."

Iris' cheeks had already grown rosy and she looked to Jack with a mockingly offended expression. Sure enough, the tree branches began to reach over the road, banding together to create a thick canopy, shading the path with only few slivers of light making it through. Even with the division of the unkept road, the forest would not allow itself to be parted from each other. The shade was a relief to the two, who hadn't realized how warm they were beneath the open sun. Jack took the time to roll the sleeves of shirt and undid his top button. Iris pinned her hair up above the nape of her neck. Again, they fell into silence, each gazing different directions into the densely grown forest.

"Oh, look, a deer," Jack nudged Iris, pointing to his left. Iris looked to where he gestured and sure enough, scampering among the shrubs, bushes, and bulging tree branches, was indeed a willowly deer. It zig-zagged between the trees rather gracefully, before disappearing behind a thicket. Jack grinned and glanced towards the horses for a moment, "It's amazing that just an hour north, it's the concrete jungle of New York City. But if you take a little time to get away from that, you find yourself in a natural world."

"People would rather go to the cinemas or beaches," Iris shrugged, settling back against the bench seat they shared, "They think seeing it in through a picture is the same thing as experiencing it. Sometimes I wonder if we are too reliant on the new technology we've created."

"So, it's probably a good thing we didn't rent something with an engine, huh?" Jack smiled. Iris sneaked a smirk at him before looking towards the end of the canopy of shade, "Where I grew up, nature like this was the only entertainment we could find."

"While you were skipping pebbles across the lake, I was attending carnivals on beach piers," Iris chuckled at the thought.

"Hey, I turned out alright even with a childhood like mine," Jack laughed openly, steering the horses to recenter the cart on the path. They rolled over a dip in the road, making them both shudder on the bench seat, "I didn't even see my first ferris wheel until I was eighteen years old and found myself in California."

"Eighteen years old! You poor deprived child," Iris teased, "The first time I rode a ferris wheel was when I was five years old. I remember being so scared. It was huge! Momma and Frenchie decided to stay on the pier and said they would wave to me and Papa from the top. When we finally got all the way up, it was just so amazing to look out from the carriage. I could see the entirety of the carnival and it was the most I'd ever seen of New York City at one time. Papa was pointing so many things out to me, I can't even remember what he was showing me. It was amazing and stuck with me for the longest time."

"Those are the good memories to hold onto," Jack nodded, squinting as they emerged from the shade and back into the blinding sunlight. Iris looked out into a clearing in the wood, watching the light stream through the foliage.

"You know," Iris lowered her eyes for a moment, listening to the cart rumble, "I never really got to tell you thank you."

"For what?" Jack furrowed his brow, turning the reigns with a curve in the road, "I haven't done anything."

"I keep thinking about my stupid rash decision I made back in February."

"None of that matters," Jack shook his head, "You didn't go."

"Right. But I keep thinking about how you were so determined to not give up on me," Iris said, staring forward, "That no matter how much attitude or push-back I gave you, you never once threw in the towel or got at all exasperated with me."

"Iris, I'm not the one who stopped you that day," Jack lowered the reigns and looked to his companion as they went over a bump in the path, "You did."

"Only because I could hear your every word echoing through my mind," Iris replied, "If you hadn't talked to me... maybe I would have gotten on that ship. But because of what you said, I stayed. And just to think... if I had..." She shook her head and lowered her eyes, "Frenchie would have been all alone to deal with our mother's passing," She now looked to Jack's bright blue eyes, "I wouldn't have been there with my mother in her final moments if you hadn't stepped in, Jack. Ever since you've come into Frenchie and I's life, you been the perfect weight to balance us out. You've always provided the equilibrium that Frenchie and I desired, but had no idea how to obtain. I want you to always remember how fond we are of you."

Jack grinned and looked back ahead of them, watching the horses heads bob up and down, "I'm quite fond of you two, as well."

Iris smiled at the comment and settled comfortably against the bench, propping her feet back up again. She tilted her head up into the sun and they were quiet again for a few moments before Iris said, "Damn, I should have brought a sun hat."

Together, they both chuckled, as they mosied down the path, kicking dust up in their trail.


	54. Lavender and Potpourri

Chapter Fifty-Four

_June 14th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Rose carefully set a large stack of papers, tied together by white parcel string, on the side of her writing desk. She remained perfectly still in her seat as she stared at it. The corners of the pages curled as a warm breeze came through her open window. Rose lowered her hands to her lap, her eyes trained on the papers. She almost shook as she stared, in an absolute trance. Her novel was finished. There it was, in it's entirety, sitting right before her. Rose nearly couldn't believe it. After so many months, so many distractions, so many nights wondering about the timeline, there it was, completed in front of her, ready to put into Thomas' hands. So many possibilities ran through Rose's mind as she wondered what the next step for her was.

Rose ran her hand over her belly before reaching for a fresh sheet, tucking it into her typewriter. She let out a huff and lowered her hands to the keys. She paused for the slightest moment before her hands began running along the familiar board she had spent the past half year hunched over. Rose typed with confidence, shutting down any second thoughts she may have had about the letter she was composing. The clacking of the keys was the only thing to be heard in the house and Rose grew acutely aware of it. She paused, turning her head towards the ajar door. She watched streams of light fall across the hallway. In just two months, she knew she'd be hearing the sounds of a wailing baby.

Rose stood up abruptly from her writing desk, leaving the letter half-finished in the typewriter. She wandered away from it, in the mood for some tea and a break. As she began towards the stairs, she paused, when she passed another open door. Slowly, she approached the doorway of the nursery and gazed around. Jack had completed his large mural that spanned the entirety of the four walls enclosing the room. They had finished the crib, acccumulated a rocking chair, and a powder table. Next, they would just need to fill the closet and bring an overflowing toy hamper into the room to complete it. Rose leaned against the doorway, looking around the quiet empty room. After a few moments, she slowly entered, her stocking feet padding on the soft carpet. She opened the curtains and looked down into the empty backyard. Her hand gently rest on the back of the stained brown rocking chair. She turned to look into the crib. Then turned her eyes on the powder station.

_In just two months... I'll have you in my arms, _Rose thought, glancing to her large belly. Rose followed the brush strokes on the walls, imagining Jack's magical touch, every streak he made on the wall full of meaning. Rose approached the changing station, gently touching the few cloth diapers they had collected in preparation for the baby's first week at home, _I'm so ready to have you here... but am I ready to give birth? _As her due date grew near, Rose felt an uproar of anxiety plague her insides, turning her intestines into knots. She had made the mistake of reading a magazine aimed towards mother's and she had come across many horror stories during birth. Bleeding to the point of being rendered unconscious. A pain so intense, it left women bedridden for weeks. The terrifying possibility of being left full of undying sorrow, that for no reason ruins a woman's outlook on any future for herself. The thought of something going wrong rained down on Rose. She worried about losing the baby. Sometimes, she worried about her own well being. What if something happened to her? She allowed herself to be nervous over the thought of her baby not having a mother. She wondered how Jack would cope.

Rose shook her head and blinked rapidly. She gripped the top of the crib and looked out the window again, _Nonsense. Jack would never let anything happen to me or the baby. I have to be brave and strong for Jack, like he is for me. Nothing is going to go wrong. The baby will arrive and do nothing but make us happy. Nothing bad will happen... _Rose left the nursery and went down to the kitchen, making herself a cup of mint tea. She dropped a sugar cube into the glass and watched it slowly dissolve into the steamy drink, _Just to think... I'll be a mother in a few weeks..._

Rose stared at the marble countertop for a moment before sighing and setting her tea spoon down. She took a slow sip of her tea, testing the sweetness. She licked her lips and gazed into the backyard again, watching their one lone tree sway in the wind, _I wonder what occupied my mother in the weeks leading to my birth. I wonder what she felt, what she worried about, what she hoped for. I'm sure she prayed day and night for a boy. I wonder how disappointed everyone was in that room when I came out as a girl... _Rose paused, her tea cup hovering in front of her lips, _She went through all that trouble, suffered all those nine months, to only deliver a disappointment._

She pressed her palm to her belly, _I won't be disappointed, whether you're a boy or a girl, I promise, baby. I want things to be different. So different. I never want you to lie awake at night wondering what's wrong with you. I never want you to feel like you cannot talk to me or confide in me. I don't want you to think you're walking on egg shells, condemned to playing a guessing-game. You'll never feel ashamed of yourself, no matter what you want to do. I promise, baby, I will break all the molds that have followed my bloodline for centuries. Things will be different for you and I. The DeWitt Bukater's won't be able to touch you, baby. They won't be able to touch any of us._

On that note, Rose gathered her tea into her hands and returned to her writing desk. She took a deep breath before gently laying her fingers to poise over the keys. Her eyes slowly wandered down the few lines she had already written. She nodded to herself and began the next line, the typewriter slowly stamping out in front of her eyes _Tim._

...

_June 18th, 1914_  
_Manhattan, New York_

Jack took off work that day to accompany Rose to her monumentous meeting at the publishing company. The entire morning while Rose got ready, Jack followed at her heels, reading her manuscript and exclaiming lines out loud that he considered were pure gold. Rose peered at him in the reflection of her vanity mirror at him, as he sat, half-dressed, on the foot of their bed.

"Some of those lines might not even make it to the final cut," Rose had told him with a laugh.

They were directed towards the typical conference room. Rose grinned as she guided Jack around the outskirts of the typical mayhem. He raked his hair from his eyes and watched the commotion. Rose paused at the door.

"Are you ready for this view?" She asked him before opening the door without waiting for an answer. Rose found herself mesmerized by the view, as usual. Everything seemed especially bright and cheery that day, as if it was her oyster to scavenge. She tore her eyes away prematurely, however, to watch Jack. He was very slowly wandering towards the wide picture window spanning across the wall. He pressed his hand to the smudgeless window and simply stared, his mouth agape. Rose came to stand beside him, smiling as she gazed at his wordless face, "Is it an inspiring view, Mr. Artiste?"

"You have no idea," Jack simply breathed, his eyes still soaking in everything they could. Rose laced her fingers through his, "You did it, Rose," He said, tearing his eyes away from the view moments later, "Without anyone's help, guidance, unnecessary coercing, you made it to the top. Here you are, on top of Manhattan, all on your own accord. You did it, Rose. You always could," He gently cusped her cheek with his palm, "I believed in you, even when we were separated. I never stopped believing in you. Even in death, I knew you'd still find a way to go on."

Rose melted into his words and touch. She pressed her hip against him and sighed, "Probably not what you want to hear... but I couldn't have done this without you, Jack. Plain and simple."

"That's a lie," Jack shook his head, "The first story they accepted from you was one that you wrote before we met again. You did it all on your own, darlin'."

"At least take some credit."

"I did provide pizza, which is a known-benefactor on progress," Jack laughed.

"I never thought this day would come," Rose sighed, glancing towards the finishing manuscript sitting lonesomely on the large conference table, "So much blood, sweat, and tears went into that, Jack. What if they actually end up hating it? What if they just rip my contract up in front of me?"

"Hey, we both know that ain't gonna happen," Jack turned fully to her, gripping her arms, "They're going to love it. They'll want to plaster your name on every market window, sign, and sandwich board in the state. Hell, even the country! You'll be among the remembered contributors to literature in a hundred years, Rose."

"You just sound so sure about everything," Rose huffed melodramatically, caressing his fingers gently, "We don't know what's going to come of this."

"Oh, I'm sure about this," Jack insisted, "Just like I'm sure we're having a girl."

"Look how big I am!" Rose gestured to the large bump that kept them apart, "This is surely a boy. You cannot deny it, Jack."

"You're not big at all," Jack chuckled, pressing his hands to either side of her belly, "Just more of you to love, anyway. I'm feelin' lucky. It's Violet, I know it is."

Just as Rose was about to reply, the conference doors flew open and Thomas marched in, followed by a trail of well-dressed employees Rose had never seen again. She felt her stomach drop through her body and she nearly gulped audibly. She turned towards them, folding her hands in front of her. Thomas grinned, crossing the room.

"Rose, honey, good to see you! Whose this charming chap?"

"This is my husband, Jack," Rose grinned, gently touching his arm.

"Pleased to meet you," Thomas gave him an energetic handshake, "Impeccable timing, Mr. Dawson. Rose, on behalf of Iron and Tooth Publishing Company, I'd like to officially congratulate and accept you as an author represented by our expertise. We're ready to begin printing and distributing your novel _The Greater Heights _by the end of the summer, perfect-timing for back to school readers."

As Thomas finished his words, a pop echoed through the conference room, followed by the howls and cheers of the employees blocking the entryway. They clapped as an agent stepped forward, pouring champagne into flute glasses. Rose felt her cheeks grow warm as he held the glass out to her, which she gingerly accepted. Her heart beat thunderously in her chest as Thomas wrapped his arm around Rose's shoulders.

"You're going to do great things, I can tell," He said quietly, beneath the ruckus of celebrating. Rose looked to him for a moment before slowly looking at Jack, whose eyes had never left her. He was already grinning, holding his flute glass nonchalant by his side. She felt her body temperature rise just by looking at him.

...

Soon enough, all the paperwork was signed and Rose shook hands with people she had already forgotten the names of. Slowly, the conference room deflated and the sounds of roaring typewriters, hurried footsteps, and impatient shouts made it to her ears again, returning Rose to reality. She adjusted the strap on her satchel as she and Jack walked back towards the door.

"I'll meet you at the elevator," Rose said gently, touching Jack's arm, "I need to speak with Thomas."

"Okay," Jack nodded, "I'm gonna go eavesdrop on the office gossip."

Rose grinned weakly and watched as he left. She then took a deep breath and turned towards Thomas, who was busy collecting all his paperwork for his inevitable next meeting. Rose gripped the strap of her satchel tightly and approached the side of Thomas. She reached into her bag and withdrew an envelope. _Tim _was written neatly across the front.

"Is there any chance I can leave this with you to give Tim the next time you see him?" Rose asked, "His eyes only. Official business, you know."

"Well," Thomas straightened up and paused from his task, "I'd love to do that for you, Rose, but actually, Tim resigned about a week and a half ago."

"Resigned?" Rose echoed, obviously caught off guard, "What do you mean?"

"He told me he was moving his practice to Maryland. Baltimore, to be exact," Thomas replied, "You're telling me he hasn't told you? He's your lawyer!"

"Well... no, not really," Rose shook her head, "In a way, he never was my lawyer. He never charged me a dime. He just did it all for me. Whether it was purely a pro-bono motive or him just being kind, he wasn't ever really my lawyer, Thomas."

"Hmph... I kind of figured," Thomas nodded, shifting his weight between his feet, "I knew he was sweet on you. Just by the way he looked at you and talked about you. Tim's a smart fellow, I've worked with him for years... but boy, sometimes his heart just really gets in the way. I don't know if it's from that maiden sanctuary he was brought up in or what. It's a shame he was in love with a married lady."

Rose bit down on her lip for a moment, lowering the envelope to her side, "Do you know if he's left yet?"

"Can't say," Thomas shrugged, "I haven't seen or talked to him in those two weeks."

"Okay," Rose nodded, glancing out the window, "Thank you, Thomas."

...

_New York City, New York_

When Jack and Rose arrived at the train station back home, Rose told Jack she had errands to run. He was adamant about the fact that she needed to go home and rest, but Rose insisted she wouldn't be long. Jack hesistantly let her go with a kiss and decided to stop by the studio on his way home. Rose was dearly tired, she noticed, as she began her up-town march. After a bit of walking in the hot afternoon sun, Rose came upon the building that held Tim's office. Immediately, she peeled herself to the directory and noticed she couldn't find his name. She hurried through the doors and took the elevator to floor twelve. She ripped open the gates herself before the attendant could, who seemed rather bewildered by the rider operating the lift themselves.

Rose rushed down the hallway to his office door. His name was still embossed over the glass. Rose knocked hesitantly, but there was no noise on the other side of the door. She glanced up and down the quiet and vacant hallway before letting herself into the unlocked office. It was dark when she entered, which was out of place since it was a week day. Rose flicked the light on and gazed around to notice many pieces of furniture and all the filing cases missing. She rounded the large oak desk, noting the top had been completely cleared of any personal items. She ran her hand along the empty top before opening a few drawers. They had all been completely cleaned out.

Rose slowly lifted her head and gazed over the shelled-out office from behind the desk. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she lowered herself into the large leather chair, bumping it against the empty bookshelves built into the walls. She folded her hands into her lap, simply staring at nothing in particular.

_He's leaving because of me, isn't he? _Rose asked herself. She dreaded the answer, but it loomed on the forefront of her mind, _I've chased him entirely out of New York City. He's called this place home for decades and I've come along, and as usual, caused my natural destruction. What could there possibly be for him in Baltimore? This city is large enough to split between us. I never wanted to do this to him. How could this be the right choice for him?_

Rose became acutely aware of the clock ticking on the wall. She left the office, quietly closing the door after her. She didn't have the patience to wait for the elevator, so instead, she took the vacant staircase. She was winded after just a few flights down but continued. She felt a slight cramp in the abdomen and paused, taking a deep breath and pressing her hand to her belly.

_Come on, _Rose told herself, flaring her nostrils as the cramp intensified, _I can do this. I'm not so helpless that I can't even take the stairs._

After a few moments, she felt well enough to continue and she burst from the lobby of the building back into the hot afternoon sun. She marched with certainty up-town again, not even looking to anybody she passed. Rose walked with purpose, ignoring street crossing signs and jay-walking in front of oncoming traffic. Any beeps she received were not recognized by her. She came upon a familiar sight of a playground, which was populated by dozens of children swinging on monkey bars, climbing jungle gyms, and swinging into the sky on creaky chains. Rose paused and gripped the top of the stone half-wall dividing the park from the street. She watched the children play chase and hide behind trees. She grinned as she watched two children dig deep holes in the sandbox. She almost laughed as a little girl was scared away from a tree by a quirky squirrel.

Rose then slowly lost her grin as just beyond some children, stood the tall townhouses just across the street. The second from the left. Her eyes lingered on the windows which glinted in the afternoon sun. Her eyes scanned down the well-painted shutters, across the intricate carvings in the moldings, and came to rest on his front door. Rose rounded the playground, the children now completely forgotten to her. Without looking, Rose crossed the street and found herself on his front step. Her heels crunched onto something and she looked down to see a mat that said 'Welcome' beneath her. She took a deep breath, hunching her shoulders for a moment. After what seemed an eternity, she knocked on the door, causing her heart rate to spike.

Rose counted the beats slowly. She began to think maybe he really wasn't there anymore. That in the span of fourteen days, Tim had been able to collect himself into a backpack and book it to Baltimore. It was as if he had effectively thrown a match to his old life and left without looking back. But suddenly, Rose heard shifting, and she stopped breathing. The door swung open and there was Tim, looking much different than how she'd ever seen him. He was wearing just a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It was tucked into black slacks. She had never seen him dressed so lightly before. Tim seemed rather surprised to see Rose on his door step. His face didn't mask what he felt at all. Just beyond him, Rose could see disorganization, slowly gravitating towards open boxes scattered across the floor of his living room.

"So it's true," Rose said quietly, slowly meeting his eyes, "You really are moving to Baltimore."

Tim nodded at first before he finally found his voice, "Yes, I am. I'm... I'm changing my speciality in practice. I don't want to do business and banking anymore. I've decided I want to try family and civil law."

"Why the sudden change?" Rose asked.

Tim leaned his arm up against the doorway and sighed, raking his hands through his dark hair, "I've just come to realize, Rose, that I really need a change."

"A change so drastic, you're moving away from everyone you know and love?"

"Maryland isn't a far throw from here," Tim shrugged, "I'm closer to DC, anyway. It will be better for me and my career."

"Are you moving because of what's happened between you and I?" Rose asked, turning her head, "You're willing to move away just to get some space between you and the facts?"

Tim was quiet for a few moments and lowered his eyes. The sun reflected brightly off the lens of his glasses as he mulled over what he would say next. After a few beats, he licked his lips and looked back to Rose, "What happened between us last time really opened my eyes to some things, Rose. I've lost myself. I've lost everything I ever stood for. I've fixated on you. It's not healthy and it's not fair to anybody, especially you, Rose. I realized in that moment, that I still hadn't accepted what I had learned in January. I hadn't accepted what the new reality was. And it made me realize..." Tim paused for a moment, simply studying Rose's face in the sunlight, "I'm missing out on a lot in life. I'm missing so many connections, so many opportunities, so many memories. I've been rooted in spot, complacent, for far too long. I think moving to Maryland will be a good thing for me. I'll meet new people, be in a new envrionment. I can clear my mind and start fresh again. And now, I can make some new headway on my life. Maybe finally start that family I've always wanted. Be the lawyer I've always wanted to be."

Rose found herself smiling weakly at him, "That's... what I wanted to hear, Tim. All I want is for you to be happy. If you're really walking into Baltimore with the drive you say you are... well, I think that's good and I think you will go far with those goals. I want what's best for you, Tim."

"I still care for you tremendously," Tim said, "And I'll probably never stop thinking about you, Rose Dawson."

Rose nodded, "I'll never forget what you did for me, Tim Calvert."

They stood in silence for a few moments, fleetingly meeting eyes. Rose reached into her bag and withdrew the envelope, slowly holding it out towards him. Tim gingerly took it into his hands and she felt a rush of déjá vu, remembering when he tenderly accepted the first note with her address on it well over a year ago.

"What's this?" Tim asked, turning the envelope between his fingers.

"It's kind of a mix between goodbye, good luck, and you're fired," Rose grinned. Tim chuckled at this and lowered the envelope to his side, "I guess this is it."

"Looks like it," Tim nodded stiffly, "I'll be gone by the end of the week."

Rose waited for just a beat before she reached forward, linking her arms around his neck. He was surprised at first, but gracefully swooped into completing the hug, pressing his palms flat to her back. They hugged tightly for a few moments in silence, the howls of the playing children distantly making it to their ears. When they finally parted, Rose caught his hand, giving it a final squeeze.

"Good luck, Tim," She said quietly, before turning and descended his stoop. Tim watched her disappear around the corner before sighing. He closed the door behind him and pressed the envelope to his forehead, closing his eyes and relishing in the silence. In the next moment, a familiar scent reached his nose. He inspected the envelope slowly before realizing it smelled like lavender and potpourri.


	55. The Dream Business

Chapter Fifty-Five

_July 1st, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

There was a knock at Jack and Rose's door shortly after the clock struck ten. Rose rushed down the stairs, fluffing her curls down her shoulders. She threw the door open and grinned when she saw Thomas standing there. They exchanged a hug and Rose quickly ushered him into the house and towards the kitchen. Jack was busy getting coffee brewing and slicing up some fruit. He grinned and greeted Thomas as he brushed past. Quickly, he began settling his things on the island, pulling out many folders of files.

"Thanks again for offering to come to my house for this," Rose told him, absent-mindedly smoothing creases out of her maternity dress. She watched as he lined paper after paper out on the counter, each one begging to be signed by Rose.

"Not a problem," Thomas grinned, barely glancing up from his task, "You're looking very well, but like I told my wife when she was pregnant with our kids: You look like you're ready to pop!"

Rose grinned politely, running her hand over her large belly, "The time for the baby to be here is coming up fast. I'm just glad I was able to finish my novel before that fiasco."

"As someone who raised three boys and two girls, I can say with ease that you're going to do just fine, Rose," Thomas replied, seating himself in the stool, "What're you hopin' for?"

"Boy or girl, either will be fine," Rose told him, watching as Jack arranged neat slices of fruit along a plate, "We just want it to be healthy."

"By the looks of you, talking by experience, of course, I'd say you're havin' a boy, Rose."

Rose smiled, glancing to Jack again, "You know, that's what I've been telling Mr. Dawson here, but he is just certain we're having a little girl."

Jack now turned towards the island, setting his artistically laid out plate of fruit in front Thomas' work station. He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned nearly mischeviously between Rose and Thomas, "My gut feeling just says it's a girl. I know it."

"Uh-oh," Thomas chuckled heartily, "I know those tones. Bets have been placed, haven't they?"

"Friendly ones, yes," Jack replied with a nod. The coffee maker beeped, drawing him back to the side counter. He began arranging three cups of coffee, laying out his raw sugar and creamer beside them. Thomas gestured to the empty stool beside him.

"Well, shall we get started on these mountain of papers I need you to sign?"

"Yes, right away. I certainly don't want to keep you."

"Feh," Thomas waved his hand dismissively as Rose lowered herself into the stool beside him, "Between you and I, I like the time I get away from the office during the day. It's so damn hot and loud in there. I swear, I still hear those typewriters roarin' away when I'm laying down to go to bed. This, to me, is a vacation."

Rose smiled at the warm friendliness that Thomas exuded. She was comforted by his paternal personality. She certainly felt lucky in that moment to have been put into Thomas' hands. She watched as he shuffled a few papers about. He handed her a fountain pen for herself and he cleared his throat.

"A lot of this is just legal mumbo-jumbo. I'll do my best to keep it curt but clear," Thomas told her. Slowly, he lowered the tip of his pen to the first paper on the list, "With your signature on this form, you're agreeing to allow Iron and Tooth Publishing to publish and market your work. As the author, you'll retain all rights. We aren't interested in buying or taking that off of you. Whatever you write will be promoted and marketed by us, but we won't own any of it. Just sign here," Rose did as she was told, "Good, good," Thomas flipped the page over to the next one, "This one is your official contract. For the next five years, you're agreeing that any and all writings of yours will be promised to Iron and Tooth Publishing to market. I need your intials here and your signature at the bottom."

Rose felt a jolt of excitement rush through her as she daintily signed her name across the bottom. This contract was a promise to her. That for the next five years, she was guaranteed to have honest and open feedback on her work. They might not publish everything, but she was pleased to know someone would always have eyes to look at it. It was goodbye to the slush pile for the next five years. She pressed her free hand to her belly as wrote out the last of her name.

"This is just a page confirming that rights will be attained under your legal name, Rose Dawson, and payment will always be served to you and only you," Thomas explained, pointing to where Rose needed to sign. Quickly, she scribbled across it and he turned the page again in the portfolio, "This is a no contest form. You don't sue us and we don't sue you. We always work things out in a proper business format."

Jack set their coffees on the island. Thomas grinned and reached for it, "Thank you, Mr. Dawson. I sincerely appreciate it."

"Just call me Jack," He replied, leaning against the counter while holding his own mug.

"Curious question, this has nothing to do with the meeting at hand," Thomas sat up straight, looking towards Jack, "I'm sure you get asked this all the time, but... are you in any way related to the Boston Dawson's?"

Jack smiled at the question and withheld a laugh. He took his time sipping his coffee before he finally shook his head, "No relation. My family sprouts from Wisconsin and just a bit north beyond the border."

"Ah, it was worth asking," Thomas chuckled at himself, "It's just not a name you see every day," He turned his eyes towards Rose, "What was your maiden name?"

"Oh," Rose seemed rather surprised by the question, but did everything she could to mask it. She lowered her coffee mug, her slender fingers nervously running along the rim, "It was... it was Barnes," She said, throwing a fleeting glance towards Jack, who seemed amused, "Nothing fancy. Just Rose Barnes."

"Rose Dawson has a better ring to it," Thomas nudged her playfully. He then cleared his throat, "Sorry for the delay. Curiosity always kills the cat, huh?" He laughed at himself once more before he tapped his pen to the paper, "Back to focus... actually our next topic is rather in the same vein," Thomas sipped his coffee and cradled his head in his hand, looking at Rose, "Your published name. Some people publish under their legal name, some choose a pen name. Which would you like to do, Rose?"

Rose's eyes hovered over the page for a second. She hesitated, setting her coffee mug on the island. She tapped her fingernails to counter top, running what felt like every possible scenario through her mind. She looked to Jack for a moment before she shook her head and licked her slips slowly, "To be honest, I hadn't thought about that," She said, looking at Thomas, "But I actually would rather not publish under my real name."

"Okay," Thomas nodded, quickly checking a few boxes and scribbling furiously, "Did you have a different name in mind?"

"No," Rose sighed, "I'm sorry. I hadn't been brainstorming anything."

"Not uncommon," Thomas assured her with a smile, "We just will need it by the last week of July, so we can print the book cover, alright? Until then, start thinking. Hey, you might even come up with a great baby name, too."

They barrelled through the next pages quite easily. Thomas did a short concise explaination and Rose signed without hesitation. They slowly nibbled off the fresh fruit Jack had served. Jack lingered in the kitchen the entire time, watching with pride as Rose signed all her documents. She was turning into a real author right before his eyes and he couldn't help but think how beautiful it was to see. She was sprouting her wings, finally, after breaking out of her cocoon.

"That's everything," Thomas triumphantly declared after Rose lifted her pen from the paper, "We're going to start proof reading and sending you our ideas of what to keep and what to cut. We'll get it trimmed down to a good size and then the real fun begins: Designing, publishing, and hitting the shelves. You have a lot to look forward to for the rest of this year, Rose."

She couldn't help but blush madly at the idea. Her cheeks radiated with warmth and she nodded at Thomas, "Thank you again. Thanks isn't even enough."

"Pleasure is all mine," Thomas told her, taking her hand into his, "I've been in this business for decades, Rose, and accepting a new author and seeing that same smile you have on over and over again... well, it's why I call this the dream business. Again, the pleasure really is mine."

"I just never thought this would happen in a million years," Rose laughed, nearly embarrassed.

"Well, with the way you write, it was bound to happen before that," Thomas guffawed loudly and began packing all his things into his briefcase, "We'll be in contact, Rose. Until then, brainstorm your pen name. Oh! I almost forgot," Thomas grinned, lowering his briefcase to his side, "I wanted to invite you two to my fourth of July party at my beach house in Coney Island. Hell, bring some friends, too. There will be live music, lots of great food, the beach, and, of course, fireworks. Rose, this would be great for you. A lot of authors will be there. Let me write the address down for you," Quickly, he hunched over and scribbled it off, handing it towards Rose, "And please, bring some friends. The more the merrier," He grinned politely between Jack and Rose, "I'll let myself out. I have a train to catch. Good day!"

...

_July 4th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

As Jack and Rose left their house that evening, they were pleasantly surprised to see the neighborhood was coming alive as the sky became stained in light blues, pinks, yellows, and oranges. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, which meant the fireworks would be great everywhere. A group of boys on bicycles wheeled by, already wielding sparklers. They hooted and hollered, weaving between each other, as they took the downhill curve of the neighborhood road. Next door, Rose and Jack returned a wave to Mr. and Mrs. Finnian, the parents of two rowdy twin boys. Mrs. Finnian was smoothing a linen over their picnic table while her husband trimmed the hedges lining their walkway. In the empty driveway were two discarded bikes tangled up in each other. Jack spotted the two blond boys squatted down in the yard, playing with a lighter their father gave them for the festivities. Across the street, Mrs. Sawz and her teenage daughter were hanging American flag banners along the bushes lined beneath the picture window of their living room.

The couple steered out of their neighborhood and began down the road, in the general direction of the train station. They had one stop to make, however, and that was the studio. Jack had invited Frenchie and Iris. He figured it'd be good to get them out into a like-minded crowd. As they strode down the sidewalk, Rose glanced at her dress. She rubbed at the creases in the silken fabric, trying to get it flat along her belly. She tugged at the grey collar and let out a huff.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, looking towards her.

"Oh, nothing," Rose replied, clearly flustered, "I'm just regretting this dress choice like I knew I would. I tried on nearly six different dresses today and I wasn't pleased with how any of them looked on me. I'm huge and every dress accentuates that."

Jack couldn't help himself from grinning. He stared forward at the approaching curve where they would take a right for the studio, "You're not huge. Quit sayin' that. You're pregnant, Rose. This is what happens. Nobody is judging you for being fat. Besides, I think you look quite nice," He wrapped his around her waist as they made it to the street corner.

"You have to say that," Rose laughed, huddling against him as they walked, "No woman I've ever met has been this large. Well, they were still able to fit into corsets, at least," Rose shrugged, "There's no fixing this bump with a corset."

"You don't even own a corset," Jack replied, "And I don't ever want to see one hangin' in our closet, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Rose said, flashing him a goofy smile.

"You won't have this stomach in a few weeks," Jack told her, "It'll all be over soon. Watch, the baby will get bigger and you'll miss this," He grinned as he placed his palm flat to her stomach, "I'll bet you'll want to do this again."

"Let's see how delivery goes," Rose replied, "Then we'll re-evaluate."

"Everything will be fine," Jack said confidently, "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. Someone knowledgeable will be there who has seen it all. There won't be anything out of the ordinary," He bent his head down, gently kissing her on the temple, "Don't worry about a thing. Just leave it all to me, okay?"

Rose stopped walking and Jack quickly rooted in place, wrapping his arms around her, "I know you'll do everything you can, Jack," She told him, gently grazing her fingers along his arms, "But these things are unpredictable."

"You know, I had a hunch you were already getting worried about this," Jack tightened his hold around Rose, "And actually, I've already talked to a few people."

"You have?" Rose's eyes lit up in surprise.

"When I first found out you were pregnant, I laid all my money out in front of me," Jack said, a gentle breeze blowing his blond bangs across his forehead, "And I counted all of it. I put some aside. One of those stacks I put aside was to pay for a mid-wife. One that could live with us in the days leading up to the birth and at least the next few days after. And I secured one. She had rave reviews and has been in the business for over ten years. She'll be coming to stay with us at the end of July."

"Wow... I just... Really?" Rose stammered, "Jack, I'm so surprised. Honestly, I didn't think we could afford something like that at the moment. An actual mid-wife? That's great. I just thought we'd ask the old woman down the street."

"Mrs. Barnabee?" Jack furrowed his brow.

"She's seen a thing or two in her life, I just know it," Rose burst out laughing now. Jack smiled as he watched her shoulders bob, her cheeks growing red, "I just can't believe it. What's her name?"

"Annette Brown."

...

_Coney Island, New York_

It wasn't a far train ride to Coney Island. Maybe just a little under an hour. Frenchie was dressed in a black beret and black suit with a crisp white cotton button up and a grey silken tie. Iris opted for a long sleeve dark red dress with gold trimming and a waist band. They both seemed rather eager for the social. Iris told them it had been nearly a decade since either of them had gone to Coney Island. The brakes of the train began to squeal, kicking steam up as the train slid into the station. It was equally as beautiful an evening as it was in New York City. The smell of the salty air, the squawk of the seagulls, the waving of palm trees, and the sound of the ocean only added to it.

It was hopping in Coney Island. Many ice cream parlors and milkshake bars were packed to the boot with many more spilling out on the sidewalks and curbs to enjoy their treat. Outdoor patio restaraunts and bars were nearly overflowing and the sound of music came from all directions. The beaches running adjacent to the walk paths were dotted with many people. Several heads could be found bobbing in the ocean for one last dip before the sun set.

The group of four slowly pushed through the herds of people. The further they walked, the more the crowds thinned out. As they made it around a long curve, the foot traffic significantly dropped, but more sleek and shiny black cars began to take up the road. The houses around them grew larger and more ornate the further they walked. Rose continually glanced to the slip of paper Thomas had given to her, slowly counting the numbers as they passed.

"Right here," Rose said, pointing to a dark grey brick house with white trimming and shutters. Many nice cars were parked along the curb and lined the round driveway that featured a statue with angel pouring a pot of water from her shoulder, "Number Five Fifty-Seven."

Frenchie let out a low whistle, digging his hands into his pockets, "It's a nice place. What does he do for a living again?"

"He's the owner and chief editor for the publishing company I write for," Rose replied, her eyes glued to the tall magnificent house. Just beyond the sheer white curtains of the first floor, she could see a number of people bobbing past.

"Well, we should get in there," Jack said, looking amongst his group, "Let's all have a good time."

"This fourth of July will be a good one. I promise, brother," Frenchie pressed his hand to Jack's shoulder as he brushed past him and began leading the group between the cars and to the front door. Rose curtly knocked on the door. There were a few beats between before the tall oak door swung open and a woman in a white and yellow formal dress with dark brown hair answered. She grinned as she looked amongst the decently dressed assortment of young people, but when her eyes laid on Rose, they lit up.

"Are you Mrs. Dawson?" She asked.

"You can just call me Rose," She replied with a friendly grin.

"Thomas told me to be on the look-out for a woman with bright red hair! He certainly wasn't exaggerating about it's beauty," The woman laughed daintly, pressing her manicured fingers that were covered in rings to her collarbone, "I'm Thomas' wife, Nadia. It's a pleasure, Rose."

"Oh, yes," Rose sprung forward to shake her hand, "The pleasure is all mine, Nadia. Thank you for having us at your party."

"Oh, nonsense!" Nadia waved her hand dismissively, "We love hosting people. The pleasure is ours, really. Why don't you all come in and get a drink? There's plenty to eat, too. Rose, Thomas is out on the promenade. He'd really love to see you!"

"Okay, great," Rose grinned. She glanced to Jack with a hopeful face before she led the group in through the doors. The house was absolutely stunning and beautiful. It was an attestment to what modern housing was beginning to shape up to be. The floors were made of hand-laid marble tiles with smooth grouting in between. Many decadent and Asian-looking rugs covered the floors. There were lounge chairs and big fluffy couches arranged around the open foyer, accomodating dozens of people with relaxing places to sit, smoke, drink, and chat. A gleaming oak spiral staircase lead upstairs to who knew how many rooms. Just beyond that was a large, almost industrial kitchen. Thomas and Nadia had hired professionals chefs who zipped around the kitchen, pushing many appetizers of devilled eggs, sasuages and cheeses, across the counter for hired help to deliver around the social atmosphere. It was instantly charming and coaxing to Jack, Rose, Iris, and Frenchie, as they entered.

"Like I said, help yourself," Nadia folded her hands together politely, "Whatever you need, don't hesitate to ask. There's a bar on the back porch. Any drink you'd like, we can make it."

"Wow, thank you so much," Jack said, shaking his head in near astonishment.

"I'm going to find Thomas out back," Rose told him as Nadia was drawn into a nearby group for a big laugh. She seemed like a delightful host.

"Well, that's where the bar is, so I'm following you," Jack grinned, giving her a nudge to lead the way. He glanced over his shoulder towards Iris and Frenchie. The siblings had already been drawn into observing a large landscape photo of a rose garden that was displayed above a large white couch. Jack grinned, _They'll be fine. _

Jack and Rose stepped through a large doorway that was easily eight feet tall. The french doors were left open to welcome the cooling summer breeze. Just beyond the decadent large porch was a garden with an in-ground pool in the center. Beyond that, a gate had been left open at the far end of the garden, which spilled out onto the white-sand beach. The ocean looked beautiful bathed in the golden evening light. It seemed many attendants of the party were slowly drifting down towards the beach. It was breath taking. Jack and Rose took a moment to gaze over it together.

"Rose Dawson!" Came a familiar bellow. The couple's head snapped towards the direction of comfortable patio furniture situated in a circle around a steel burn pit that already had a fire roaring in it. Amongst the well-dressed men and women stood Thomas, raising a martini glass, "There you are! I've been waiting for you, darlin'! Grab yourself a drink and join us!"

"What do you want?" Jack asked, gently touching her arm, "I'll get it for you."

"Something fruity," Rose told him, "I'll just before over here."

"Go knock 'em dead," Jack said before gently kissing her temple and disappearing into the crowd gravitating towards the open bar. Rose nervously smoothed her dress again and slowly approached the social circle. All eyes turned on her and she suddenly felt warm in her short sleeve dress. She could feel performance anxiety blossoming in the pit of her stomach. She worried about every word she would speak tonight. And felt ever so self-conscious of her large state.

"Rose, come on, sit down right here beside me. There's plenty of room!" Thomas gently pat the cushion beside him. He seemed very relaxed, not at all wound-up like he was at work. Rose could only guess he was a few martinis in. Hesitantly, she squeezed between two men sitting in garden chairs and she plopped down beside Thomas, folding her hands into her lap. The fire in the pit reached her skin and felt nice. Nervously, she looked between each unfamiliar face, but they seemed welcoming nonetheless, which calmed her nerves a bit.

"This is who I was tellin' you about, with the new novel," Thomas told them, popping the olive from his nearly empty martini into his mouth. He smacked loudly, without shame, "Her new novel is going to be called _The Greater Heights_. Lemme tell ya, I'm glad this girl came across my desk, because damn, she can write. We've pitched only the general plot outline and have received dozens of orders from book stores all over the East Coast. I'm thinkin' we can make it all the way to California with her!"

"Oh, Thomas, there's no need to boast about me," Rose shook her head, "Let's talk about someone or something else," She suggested, glancing around the circle of people, "I'm sure you've all done amazing things."

"No, no," Thomas was already chuckling as he waved his hands at the people surrounding him, "Just a gaggle of publishers and editors like me who just make money off the creative. Only creative thing we're doin' is decorating our office."

Everyone in the group broke out into laughs, shifting about in their chairs, and sipping their drinks with big grins. All their eyes were on Thomas, who seemed to be the man in charge of the dream works. A waitress came by to collect everyone's empty drinks and soon returned with fresh ones. Thomas took a sip of his martini and grinned at Rose.

"I might as well introduce you, Rose. It's always great to have contacts in the business," He turned his attention towards the group of people, "She's mine for the next five years, boys, sorry to disappoint you. Rose, here to my left is Mr. Richard Crows. He is the chief editor of Windsor Publishing Co. Next to him is Mrs. Sharon Ferris, lead editor for Yates and Rebarb Publishing Co.," Slowly, Thomas ran around the circle. Rose did mental olympics to solidfy each name spoken to her.

"So, Rose," A man by the name of Peter Jones grinned at her, stirring his drink in his lap, "Any ideas for the next novel?"

"Oh, just a few," Rose replied modestly, "I'm hoping to start writing again in fall."

"Yes, congratulations," Melody Bringer said, raising her cocktail, "Not only have you made yourself into an author, Rose, you've also been awarded the title of mother."

"Still sounds rather foreign to me," Rose told them, earning chuckles from those gathered, "It certainly was unexpected, that's for sure."

"We'll all be waiting for the birth announcement," Richard Crows said politely, "We all send our best regards. Not to mention, we're all rather eager to read your novel. How is it that Thomas always manages to get the bright and fresh new talent in all of New York?"

"Now, now," Thomas piped up, lowering his martini glass, "This one was handed to me."

"Oh, by whom, Thomas?" Melody Bringer smirked from behind her drink.

"None other than the fine Mr. Timothy Calvert."

"Oh, that dashing lawyer?" Sharon Ferris nearly huffed melodramatically, "How is it he did so much work for all of you, but I was never able to get him into my defense division!"

"Gotta know people in high places, I suppose," Richard Crows grinned mischeviously beside his pouting colleague, "He doesn't work for me anymore."

"Oh! Maybe his schedule isn't so booked anymore."

"He moved to Maryland," Thomas told her. Sharon Ferris threw her hands up in mock resignation.

"And so I will never be graced by Mr. Calvert's gentle lawyer touch."

"Sharon, are you talking about your business or yourself at this point?" Melody Bringer almost laughed.

"Oh, I know I'm not the only woman in this circle whose been enraptured by those hazel eyes and dark unkempt hair," Sharon Ferris held her nose in the air, all the while sipping her martini. Rose shifted, nearly uncomfortably, in her seat.

"Then why don't you go tell him how you feel?" Melody Bringer bellowed with a laugh, "He's right over there, speaking with Mr. Harrison Gotz."

Rose felt her heart nearly beat to a stop. Chairs and wicker benches creaked as everyone began craning their necks and gazing through the waves of people. Rose hesitantly looked over her shoulder and spotted Tim nearly instantly. He was speaking with an elderly gentleman who supported himself with a cane made of ivory. Tim was holding a crystal tumbler filled half-way with golden whiskey. He was grinning politely, bobbing back and forth as he listened to the man speak. He was dressed nicely again. To Rose, it was earth shaking to suddenly find him here.

"Rose, come with me, darling," Sharon leapt to her feet and carefully weaved between everyone's legs, "Come on, dear. Come help me break the ice with Mr. Calvert."

Quickly, Rose popped to her feet and followed Sharon from the circle. Rose and Sharon bumped into Jack who had a whiskey for himself. He handed a green apple martini out to Rose who quite liked the taste of it. Rose explained in passing to Jack where and what she was doing. He seemed rather confused but after a moment, he shrugged it off, and gravitated towards a circle that Frenchie had joined. Sharon squared her shoulders and glanced to Rose.

"You know the man, right?" Sharon asked.

"Yes," Rose nodded, watching as the woman smoothed her dress and straightened her back, "We used to work together."

"I know you're married, but how could you stand to be in the same room as that man without gawking at him or running your fingers through those dark locks?"

"He's uh..." Rose found herself trailing off as Tim broke away from Mr. Gotz. His eyes had met her's and he remained where he was, with the last of the golden evening light bathing all over him, "He wasn't really my type," Rose finally told Sharon, never tearing her eyes away from him.

...

Soon enough, night time was alive in Coney Island. Distantly, the booms of small fireworks echoed from piers and backyards. Occassionally, large fireworks exploded in the sky, drawing everyone's attention for a few fleeting moments. Everyone awaited the city's fireworks show. They were all rather eager, but occupied themselves with free-flowing booze and small appetizers on toothpicks. Jack and Rose stood at the railing of the back deck, gazing down towards the ocean and watching couples weave through the dark garden, finding corners light did not illuminate. Another firework went off overhead and the couple raised their eyes, watching the green fizzle and dissipate into the inky dark sky. It nearly reminded them of their time on _Titanic_, but neither of them brought it up.

"I've met a lot of great people," Rose told Jack, taking a curt sip of her drink through a slender straw.

"Yeah, I saw," Jack grinned, whirling his crystal tumbler in his hand, "You were charming them, just like I knew you would," Jack lowered his eyes for a moment as another firework went off. Rose admired the way the explosion illuminated his silky skin, "Congratulations, Rose," He told her as he draped his arm around her shoulder, "I'm really proud of you."

"Thank you," She said softly. She cocked her head to look into his blue eyes. Gently, her slender fingers grazed his stubbly cheek, "I love you."

Another firework went off, making Rose's porcelain skin glitter, "I love you, too," Jack told her once the thunderous boom had resounded. They leaned in to meet each other's lips tenderly and slowly. Jack and Rose were beginning to forget about everyone around them. They were melting into their own little world together. But suddenly, Jack's attention was drawn over the railing, to a garden bench that two people occupied. Jack squinted for a moment, watching the couple kiss in the shadows. Jack grinned mischeviously for a moment until the fireworks went off, illuminating the duo.

"Is that Iris... kissing _Tim_?"


	56. Pivotal

Chapter Fifty-Six

_July 7th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

When Jack returned to the studio after the weekend, he found Frenchie by himself at the communal table, lazily sketching in his notebook. Jack was nearly thirty minutes late, but Rose had been up and down throughout the night feeling unwell, and Jack had stayed up with her. He let out a wide yawn as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack.

"Hey," Jack said, raking his unkempt hair from his face. He slowly meandered towards the communal table, his hands dug into his pockets, "Where's Iris?"

Frenchie didn't even look up from his portfolio, "In Maryland."

Jack stared at Frenchie for a moment before clearing his throat, "Maryland? What for?"

Slowly, Frenchie lifted his eyes and deadpanned, "She's met someone."

"Really now?" Hesitantly, Jack lowered himself onto a stool, sitting rather stiffly, "Has she been gone the whole weekend?"

"He called for her the morning after the party," Frenchie set his pencil down. He did not seemed pleased at all, "And she went, without a second thought, and has left me by myself all weekend. She hasn't come home for a thing. Not even a change of clothes! She's surely out by now! And besides," Frenchie's stool scraped across the dirty concrete floor and he came to a pace on his feet, "This is all happening too fast, Jack! Iris has never had a beau before and now I think she's moving entirely too quickly! Not to mention this man is much older than her. He's even older than me!"

"Uh, who is it?" Jack asked, rather sheepishly, from his stool.

"This is the really crazy part," Frenchie stopped abruptly on the balls of his feet and turned towards Jack, "It's this lawyer named Tim Calvert. He used to represent someone we do commissions for. I know the man. He's likeable, yes, but I don't think he has any business wooing my little sister!"

"A lawyer, huh?" Jack whistled unevenly, "Well, you know she'd be taken care of."

"_I _take care of Iris!" Frenchie exclaimed, throwing his hands out at his side, "She doesn't need some hot-shot lawyer who lives an entire state away!"

"Well, I think you're lookin' at this all wrong," Jack shrugged now, "Think about the past year of Iris' life, Frenchie. Her mom dying, wanting to leave America... not to mention the entire mess I made with her," He waved his hand dismissively, "Don't you think a little love could be good for her? It would make her feel better about herself, I'm sure."

"Iris doesn't need a man to make her feel good," Frenchie declared, "She has you and I and this entire studio! This is an artist's dream right here!" His voice echoed through the empty space.

Jack stood, coming around the communal table towards Frenchie, "Actually, she does need a man to make her feel good," Jack told him, "Frenchie, you have to let her grow up and make her own decisions. You gotta stop swooping in like you're the hero, offering to clean her messes. It belittles her. It irritates her. Iris can get what she wants on her own. You'll always be her big brother, but you have to let her do what she wants now."

"Oh, you're one to talk about the hero and maid service," Frenchie was growing agitated quickly, "What about every time you did that when you thought she was doing something stupid?"

"Skipping town on a boat into the unknown _is _stupid," Jack shot back, "Becoming romantically involved with someone you like is not. Learn the difference."

"Well, our definitions vary," Frenchie scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't think Iris has any business hanging out with that lawyer. We don't know what his intentions are."

"I can assure you there's no malice," Jack replied.

"Oh? And how can you know?"

"Just trust me, Frenchie," Jack held his hands out at his side, "This is different, I know it is."

"You're only saying that because you finally have breathing room from her," Frenchie's anger sizzled in the tone of his voice, "You had damn well a year to become enamored by my sister! She was perfect for you and you broke her heart. You've pushed her to do things she's never done before. This is crazy for her, Jack! She's just skipped town on a train now, this is no different. What if she's tied up in a basement where no one can hear her?! What if she's been chained to a radiator and mocked?! She's just run off and I don't know where the hell she is, but that doesn't bother you, no. You're just happy she has eyes for someone else so you can finally stop feeling bad about rebuffing her!"

Frenchie's voice resounded across the empty studio. The echoes sunk into Jack's skin. The two men held tense eye contact. Their nostrils were flared as they breathed heavily, angrily. Jack felt his hands curling into fists.

"Fuck you, Frenchie," Jack said curtly, stepping away from Frenchie.

"Oh, yeah, fuck me!" Frenchie shouted, following closely on Jack's back pedals, "This is _my _sister we're talking about! I think I know what's best for her, Jack, and my concerns are valid."

"I never said they weren't valid," Jack told him, exasperated, "I'm just saying you are working yourself up over nothing."

Frenchie's arms snapped out, snagging Jack by the collar of his shirt. He was jerked forward against Frenchie, staggering on his feet. Quickly, Jack's hands snapped to Frenchie's wrist, their faces only inches apart, "This is _not _nothing, Jack. I'm losing my sister and you don't even care!"

"What part of me said I don't care?!" Jack rasped, trying to wrangle Frenchie's steel-like grip off his shirt, "You know I care about Iris. I only want what's best for her."

"Then why didn't you pick her?" Frenchie whispered, his eyes locked intensely with Jack's. His grip only tightened around his friend's collar, "You would have been perfect for her. You would have inspired her to keep doing what she loves."

"Frenchie, no," Jack shook his head. He tried harder now to unwound Frenchie's fingers, but it was to no avail, "How many times do we have to go through this?!" Jack sneered, "How long will you hold this over my head!?"

"For as long as she keeps doing this stupid shit!" Frenchie yelled, jerking Jack back against him. Jack's brain rattled in his head as he was brought closer to Frenchie again, "My sister had always been timid, quiet, and calculating! She wasn't rash! She was very agreeable! Now I don't know what's gotten into her. Ever since you first came asking for a job, you snapped something inside of her. You _changed _my sister and I want to change her back, dammit!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jack furrowed his brow, "I didn't do anything!"

Frenchie released one hand from Jack's collar and charged it backwards, bringing it forward full force against the side of Jack's face. Jack staggered, nearly falling to the ground but managed to swoop upwards and stay on his feet. The side of his face radiated and he touched it tenderly. He looked over his shoulder just in time to take another punch from Frenchie. Jack stumbled backwards into a paint smudged concrete pillar, blood dripping from his nose, down his chin, and onto his shirt. He looked at Frenchie with deep anger now and lunged forward knocking Frenchie off his feet. Jack landed on top of him, watching Frenchie deflate like a balloon as the air was knocked out of him. Jack brought his fist back and hit Frenchie on his right cheek. As he pulled his fist back to do it again, Frenchie caught his wrist by surprise and threw Jack to the side. The men rolled into the stools surrounding the table and they clattered over the wrestling duo. Frenchie grabbed Jack's neck and slammed his head straight into the leg of the table. Jack howled in pain and elbowed Frenchie in the gut, sending the man backwards. Together, the men laid on the floor side by side with the stools arranged around them. They panted heavily. Jack sat up, glancing towards his bloody shirt. Gently, he touched his tender nose, blood smearing on his fingertips.

Jack looked over his shoulder at Frenchie who was staring at the ceiling. Jack sighed, pressing his elbows into his crossed legs. He lowered his head, watching droplets of blood splatter onto the concrete floor. After a few moments, he heard Frenchie shifting about. He came to sit up beside Jack, hugging his knees.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Frenchie finally said, "That was... that was just a lot of pent up anger from the last few months. It shouldn't have come out on you."

Jack lifted his head slightly, just enough to meet Frenchie's eyes without staining his shirt anymore. He nodded at his head at Frenchie, "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?"

"Do you really think I've changed Iris like you said I did?"

Frenchie sighed and stared forward at the wall in front of him, "I don't know, Jack."

The two men fell into silence again. They sat side by side as Jack waited for his nosebleed to run dry. The only sounds to be heard was the metal roof creaking against the breeze outside.

...

Jack and Frenchie decided to stay together at the studio as the morning waned into the early afternoon. Jack shrugged out of his navy blue button up and only glanced fleetingly at the speckles of blood soaking the cotton. He carelessly disregarded it over a stool and seated himself at the table in just his white undershirt. Both the men's heads throbbed horrendously and slowly their faces grew to be faintly purple and blue. Purple rings began to reach beneath Jack's eyes as his nose became increasingly sore. The two men were quiet for the next hour, hovering over their sketch pads, but nobody made a single stroke across their open pages. Occasionally, they made eye contact and averted it just as fast. After an hour ticked by, Jack sighed and tapped his pencil against his paper.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Jack asked, doing his best to mask any exasperation.

Frenchie looked up from his empty sketch book that nearly mirrored his mind at this point, "We should just wait for Iris to come home."

"No, this talk is just between you and I," Jack said, pressing his elbows against the top of the table, "I want to know if you really meant it."

"What, my comment about Iris being different?"

"Yes, that one!" Jack shook his head but stopped abruptly when his whole skull began to throb, "To me, she's not much different. She's more mature, but... I guess I'm just not seein' what you are. Care to elaborate?"

Frenchie licked his lips rather pensively. It was obvious he did not want to revisit the words he said in anger, but by Jack's look, Frenchie knew the man was not going to back down on this. Frenchie heaved a sigh, scrunching his shoulders for a moment, "I just think..." Frenchie started slowly, his eyes trained on the dirty table, "She put her entire heart into you and when it came back to her, it changed her. What I said... you know I was angry, Jack. I was exaggerating in many senses. All I know is that I've just seen my sister change before my very eyes in the past year and a half."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe it was just a pivotal moment in her life?" Jack asked, "That maybe... it was just coincidence that I showed up at the same time? I mean, hell, I've seen the change in women that age. You know, Iris is the same age as Rose and I'd say Rose is a different kind of woman altogether since 1912. But in a good way. And I think you should look at Iris and think that, too."

Frenchie sighed again and closed his eyes now, "I just want to hold onto what I have left, Jack. In the past five years, I've lost my mother and father. Iris is all I have left now and I just... I want to hold onto her. I can't accept the change. It's like I'm allowing my life as I know it to shrivel up and blow away in the wind."

"Don't you want to see Iris grow up and be happy? Live out all her dreams? Find love? Have a family?" Jack asked, "You can't seriously expect her to be that little girl anymore who daydreams and watches you paint."

"I only want what's best for her, you know that," Frenchie answered quickly, "I just know that I can do that for her. I want to be her rock. I'm her brother for God's sake."

"Yeah, but everyone needs love, Frenchie," Jack replied, "What about you? Have you never thought about falling in love?"

"No, never," Frenchie shook his head, "The only love I have in my life is art and that's fine for me."

"Fine for _you,_" Jack pointed his finger at Frenchie, "That doesn't mean it goes for the rest of us. I really think whatever is happening between Iris and Tim will be good for her. Besides, when's the last time Iris ever left New York?"

"She's honestly probably never left New York," Frenchie muttered, "I've only gone to a different state once in my life. And that was just Virginia," Frenchie looked to Jack, "I'm scared something will happen to her, Jack. I want her treated right and I know I can do that for her. If you want something done right, do it yourself... That's what my dad always said."

"You can't just apply that to all situations," Jack sighed, cradling his sore head in his hand, which was bruised from meeting Frenchie's cheek bone, "Let her have some love in her life, Frenchie. And welcome the change. Who knows, you might just like it once you embrace it."

Frenchie was opening his mouth to respond when the front door of the studio suddenly swung open, greeting the room with its familiar creak. Frenchie was to his feet in a second. Jack simply looked over his shoulder. Iris came through the door with a bag slung over her shoulder and the widest grin on her face. She kicked the door shut behind her and carelessly dropped her things on the ground beside the entrance. She nearly skipped to the communal table, but came to a grounding halt upon getting a closer look at the artists.

"What happened to you two?" Iris asked, furrowing her brow, "Did we get robbed?"

"Yeah," Jack cracked a light hearted grin, "We fought 'em off with our own fists."

Iris took a moment to laugh before she crossed her arms over her chest, "No, really, what happened?"

"Never mind our ugly faces," Frenchie waved his hand dismissively, "Did you just get back from Baltimore?"

"Yup," Iris nodded, seating herself at a stool. Slowly, Frenchie copied, "I took the first train out this morning. You know, the rolling hills surrounding this general area are beautiful at day break," Iris grinned at the thought. Jack shot Frenchie a knowing look.

"So, um," Frenchie cleared his throat, uncomfortably shifting on his stool, "How was your time in Baltimore with your... friend?"

"Oh, Frenchie! Tim is great!" Iris' eyes lit up at the mention, "He took me to so many museums! I saw paintings I thought I'd only ever read about in magazines. And I learned so much history about Baltimore. For having only lived there a few short weeks, Tim was the best tour guide! And his town house is so pretty. The streets are vibrant with green leaves! It's a world of differences compared to New York. I never even considered Maryland before. It's a beautiful state. I definitely will be a repeat tourist!"

"You're... you're gonna go back?" Frenchie asked. Jack could almost see the man's heart sinking to his stomach. Iris stood and crossed to the ice chest they had, pulling herself a frosty bottle of Coca-Cola out. She popped the cap off and turned back to Frenchie, taking a sip of her soda.

"Well, of course! Tim is going to take me on a wine and foods tour next weekend," Iris said with a big grin, "And we're planning a beach trip, too, at the end of July. Oh, and he wants to take me for a drive through the countryside. It's all so exciting!"

"So, you're going to be seeing a lot of this friend, then?" Frenchie's voice had deflated significantly, "What about our commissions we have lined up?"

"I'll only be gone on the weekends," Iris assured him, returning to the communal table. She set her bottle on the surface and immediately, the wooden top became wet from the sweat of the drink, "I'll be able to help during the week days as normal. Weekend getaways will be good for me, anyway. Sometimes this studio makes me feel stir crazy."

"Who is this Tim Calvert to you?" Frenchie finally asked point blank. Jack arched his eyebrows and monitored Iris' slow cascading facial expression.

"He's a really good man," Iris said from behind her drink, "He treats me with respect. He likes to listen to me talk. I'm quite fond of him, too. Tim is so much different than any man I've ever met before, Frenchie. He's direct and calculating. He's incredibly handsome, if I do say so myself, and I like the way he makes me feel when I'm with him."

"Don't you think this is all moving a little too quickly?" Frenchie asked, moving his hands in weird directions, "I mean, you've only known the man for three days and you two already have your summer booked up with each other."

"No, I don't think things are progressing too quickly at all," Iris told him plainly, "Frenchie, I really like Tim. And I mean it. I know it's only been three days, but I feel like I could trust this man with my life. And I would, without a second thought."

Jack watched Iris closely, knowing those words and feelings all too well. It reminded him of his hurried explainations to Fabrizio and Tommy. The sounds of the Atlantic ocean began washing through his ears. His hair stood up on the back of his neck as Iris continued.

"He's thoughtful and sweet. He's utterly polite. He's well-groomed and has a magnificent life story trailing at his feet," Iris told Frenchie, nearly bouncing in her seat with delight. Her brother was the absolute opposite, "I think he could even... be the one," She added, rather shyly.

"You're not marrying this man," Frenchie told her.

"Well, obviously not right now," Iris heaved a sigh, drooping her shoulders, "But if everything continues as it is... we'll see," She grinned at the idea. Frenchie looked to Jack, mostly seeking help. But something inside of Jack quivered and he sat up on the cue of Frenchie's intense look.

"It sounds like you had a good weekend, Iris," Jack said. Frenchie shook his head and lowered his eyes.

...

"Tim? Timothy Calvert?" Rose paused, looking at Jack in the reflection of her vanity mirror, "The lawyer? Are we talking about the same man?"

Jack couldn't help but grin from where he was propped up in bed with a forgotten newspaper in his lap, "Yup, none other. Frenchie is pissed. I think it's good, especially for Iris."

Rose was quiet for a moment before she turned in the stool, looking towards Jack, "The world seems so huge, but when things like this happens... well, it really reminds you of what a small world we actually inhabit."

"There are millions of people out there, but I was still lucky enough to bump into you," Jack grinned, which Rose returned. After a moment, she turned back towards her vanity to continue brushing her curls out before bed. Jack could see she was still smiling in her reflection and he did the same as he returned to his newspaper.


	57. Green Eyes

Chapter Fifty-Seven

_July 11th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

That Friday morning at the studio was noisy with a fuzzy radio belting jazz, paint cans scraping about, and ladders creaking. Iris, Jack, and Frenchie independetly on three separate paintings. Each were fully submersed into work, focused, as they poured paint and dabbed it against their canvas. Jack noticed Frenchie was moving relatively slow and hadn't made as much ground as Iris and Jack. He decided to leave it alone, however, knowing Frenchie's buttons were not to be meddled with.

Suddenly, the studio door floor open. Jack looked over his shoulder from where he sat perched atop his ladder. He was expecting Rose, but was rather shocked when he saw Tim with a bouquet of daisies and lillies in his hand walk in. Iris squealed and set her pallette down instantly, racing across the space to greet him.

"Tim, what are you doing here?" She asked, pecking him on the cheek.

"I thought you'd like some company on your train ride to Maryland," Tim laughed, almost sheepishly, "So, this is the studio you work in, huh?" Tim began to look around but paused when his eyes laid on Jack, who was still on top of his ladder, only watching Tim, "Oh, Jack. You work here, too?"

"Wait, how do you know Jack?" Iris asked, furrowing her brow. Slowly, Jack climbed down from the ladder feeling tense in every muscle. Frenchie had cautiously approached the duo and seemed apprehensive of Tim, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Through my career," Tim downplayed, which surprised Jack, "I helped Rose with some legal work when she was getting published through a company I represented. That was all when I practiced here, though," Tim was slick with his words, Jack had to admit. He was silently glad Tim had been quick on his feet.

"Oh, what a small world," Iris returned to grinning and wrapped her arms around Tim's larger one, "I guess we should be heading out?"

"We have some time," Tim assured her, glancing to his gold wrist watch, "If you need to finish anything, go right ahead. I figured we'd catch some lunch before we got on the train," He paused for a moment and looked to Frenchie, "You're welcome to join us, Mr. Cohan. I'd love to pick your brain over painting, as much as I have with Iris'. I've seen your work, it's magnificent. You know, I was at that art show in November that you were honored at."

"Yes, I'm familiar with your work as well," Frenchie replied with no tone in his voice. He looked to his sister, "No, no. I don't want to intrude on your lunch date. It's a lovely day. I'm sure you two would rather spend it alone."

"Oh, you wouldn't be intruding at all," Tim said with a friendly smile, "Lunch is my treat. Jack, why don't you get Rose and we all go and catch up."

"That's very kind-" Jack began, but Frenchie's anger unleashed before he could finish.

"We don't want to go," Frenchie told him. Iris looked at her brother sternly.

"Frenchie, Tim is only trying to be polite."

"Yes, I'm sorry if I came across as offensive," Tim quickly jumped in, "I just thought it would be nice to meet and really talk to such a creative and ambitious artist such as yourself. And you're Iris' brother, so I think it's important we do chat."

"I'm not interested."

Tim seemed taken aback by the exchange, but he quickly masked any thoughts running through his mind. Iris looked extremely irritated and embarrassed, "Let me just wash my paint brushes and we'll go right away, alright? Maybe we can go for a nice walk to kill time before lunch."

"Sure," Tim replied, tearing his eyes away from Frenchie, "Sounds good. Take your time."

Iris shot her brother a poisonous look as she brushed past him and grabbed her pallette, marching towards the backroom where the wash basin was. Tim watched her disappear from sight. He then dug his hands into his pockets and took a few paces away from Jack and Frenchie. Slowly, Jack turned his head to look at Frenchie. It was easy to see the man was out for blood. His eyes were intensely focused on Tim and his nostrils were flared.

"Hey, Frenchie," Jack said quietly, coming to his side, "You and I should probably hit the supply store. We're running low on some primary colors."

Frenchie didn't even acknowledge Jack. His eyes remained on Tim. The moment his mouth began to move, Jack knew the entire productive day was doomed. He sighed and immediately walked away from Frenchie, raking his hair from his face as his friend's tense voice came into the room, "What are your intentions with my sister?"

Tim stopped pacing and turned to face Frenchie. He was caught off guard, that was for sure. Jack watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest, "They're all good intentions, I can assure you of that, Mr. Cohan. I like her and I'm eager to learn more about her."

"And why is a successful middle-aged lawyer such as yourself not married at this point?" Frenchie asked.

"Well, I've spent the past decade entirely submersed in my career," Tim shrugged, doing his best effort to remain cool and collected with Frenchie. It was obvious to Jack that Tim was trying to make a good impression, but he was performing for a tough audience, "I think you could understand. You've made quite a name for yourself amongst the art-lover's society here in New York. I was trying to do the same thing but in the world of law. But I've finally looked up from all my studies and realized I was missing more than what the law world could give me."

"And you think my little sister can give you that more you're searching after?" Frenchie asked.

"I enjoy spending time with her. She helps me take my mind off my job, which is good from time to time," Tim nodded, "Mr. Cohan, I sincerely hope you don't think I'm stepping on your toes. And I don't want to interfere with anything. I hope you can accept what Iris and I have."

"Care to elaborate what it is that you think you two have?" Frenchie cocked a bold brow up.

"She's absolutely brilliant and she is creative," Tim's eyes lit up the more he spoke, "There's nothing I love more than speaking to someone for hours on end about art alone. I just believe we clicked very well and I'd be a fool to let that go."

"Do you always click so well with school-aged girls?" Frenchie asked, which clearly caught Tim off guard.

"Frenchie!" Iris bellowed as she appeared in the doorway. She marched out into the open space with a face of clear anger. Her cheeks had even grown rosy. She came to the side of Tim, flashing him an embarrassed look before she turned back on her brother, "What is wrong with you?!"

"What's wrong with me?" Frenchie echoed incredulously, "You're telling me I should just be okay with this?! That one day, some middle-aged lawyer swoops in and tells me he has the hots for my little sister?! Do you think Dad would be okay with this?"

"Grow up, Frenchie," Iris hissed, grabbing hold of Tim's elbow and guiding him towards the door, "And if you aren't going to, don't be mad when I do, okay?" Iris ushered Tim out the door and paused, turning back towards her confounded brother, "Bye," She said curtly, allowing the door to slam shut behind her and echo through the space.

Frenchie ran his hands over his eyes, massaging his forehead, and finally raking his fingers through his hair. He let out a long sigh and shook his head, clearly exasperated. He did a few paces, lacing his fingers behind his head as he walked. Jack could see every muscle in his body was tense.

"You know… you're doing the opposite of what you should be," Jack told him, crossing his arms over his chest, "All you're doing is pushing her straight into Tim's arms."

"Oh? And how would you know?" Frenchie asked, rather glumly, with his back to Jack, "Not like you've ever had a little sister to experience this with."

"Maybe not, no," Jack shook his head, slowly coming to the side of Frenchie, "But this exact thing you're doing right now… well, it drove Rose into my arms. And it will drive Iris even faster into Tim's arms."

"What do you care?" Frenchie asked, striding for the front door. He gripped the door knob and looked over his shoulder at Jack. He looked like he had a barrage of words banging on his lips, but no words came out. Frenchie let out a huff and left, leaving Jack all by himself.

...

_July 15th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

By Tuesday morning, Iris still hadn't returned to New York. She had sent a message to Frenchie saying her stay would be extended, as her and Tim were doing a costal tour by boat together. When the message arrived, Frenchie quit working on his paintings entirely. He hadn't got much done on Monday or Tuesday and was working at relatively half-speed. Jack had managed to finish an entire painting and delivered it for an extra tip to split between them. Jack was saving every coin and crumpled dollar that fell into his hands as the baby's due date loomed nearer and nearer.

Frenchie crumpled the note up into a ball in his palm and carelessly dropped it on the table once the parcel boy had left with a new nickel. He drooped down into a stool, nearly as deflated as a forgotten balloon on a county fair dirt path. Jack paused from mixing paint and looked up, raking some hair from his face.

"What did it say?"

"She's not coming back for a few more days..." Frenchie heaved a sigh, "Who knows... maybe not even until next week. By the time she gets back from that tour, it will be the weekend again," Frenchie shook his head, "Doesn't this man have to work? I'm starting to suspect he isn't a lawyer at all anymore!"

"I'm sure he's still practicing," Jack said, watching paint dribble from the end of his mixing stick. He never thought he would be defending Tim. Just half a year ago, Jack would have felt the same way Frenchie did, but he convinced himself this was entirely different, "He's his own boss. He makes his own hours."

"Are we not the same?" Frenchie asked, holding a hand up, "And yet we have to slave away every day to make rent and groceries. Why is it not the same for him?"

"Careful," Jack looked to Frenchie again, "Your eyes are gonna turn green."

"Jack, it's been weeks and I'm still not okay with this," Frenchie stood up again and paced rather nervously, "I thought maybe I'd start to warm up to the idea. I really tried to focus on what you said, about it being good for Iris, but I just can't accept it. I'm not happy with this in the least."

"What is there not to be happy about?" Jack shrugged, "We've talked this over a million times, Frenchie. She's out there making new expeirences and having fun with someone she likes. You should be glad she's managed to find that again after Irene passed," There was silence for a few moments. Jack stood up, stretching his legs out, "Or are you mad she's moved on and you haven't entirely?"

"What? That's stupid," Frenchie furrowed his bold brow, "I've found my acceptance with that, Jack. That's not the snag up here."

"Then what is?" Jack held his hands out.

"I don't trust Tim, simple as that."

"Now _that's _stupid," Jack said plainly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're only defending him because he did Rose a favor."

"No, I know Tim personally. There's not an ounce of malice in that man's blood," Jack shook his head, "For Christ's sake, Frenchie. He has, like, _six _sisters."

"What, so men with sister's can't be sinister?"

"So, you'd be okay if someone thought the same of you?"

"It's diff-"

"It's really not," Jack said firmly.

Frenchie held eye contact with Jack for a moment before he turned around and began towards the door. Jack was on his heels in a moment.

"Where are you going, Frenchie?" Jack asked, "Mrs. DuBois' painting is due at her house by the end of the week."

"You're in charge, then," Frenchie replied without even looking over his shoulder, "I'm going to Maryland."

"What!?" Jack exclaimed, "Frenchie, please don't. Don't do it. You're letting your anger win. Have you ever been happy with a decision you've made while angry?" Jack grabbed hold of Frenchie's arm as he threw the door open and together, the men spilled out onto the street and into the blinding sunlight, "Frenchie, listen to me!" Jack managed to catch a grip on Frenchie's arm, planting him in place, "You can't go to Maryland. It's a bad idea and deep down inside, I _know _you know it's a bad idea. Let's just talk about this, please."

"No, this is my decision to make and I made it," Frenchie told him, "I have to go to Maryland, Jack. This is my family, I have to be the one to do something."

"What are you even going to do!?" Jack was growing irritated quickly, "You're going to wait for the boat to return and what?! Confront her? Insult Tim? You're going to make her hate you!"

"I don't care that you don't understand," Frenchie said as he began to turn away from Jack, "This is a family matter, Jack, that doesn't concern you."

"I'd say this does concern me," Jack shot back, following at Frenchie's side, "You're my friend, Frenchie. Wouldn't you want me to tell you when you're doing something stupid!? I'm trying to help you. This is seriously a bad idea. Stop and listen to me, dammit!"

"I'm done listening to you about this!" Frenchie roared. He stopped walking and turned towards Jack, "You always think you're the wise one, but you're not always, Jack! You have no experience on this matter. It's not Tim coming after someone in _your _life. All you do is play it safe, never cross the red tape! Well, didn't you ever stop to think how different your life would be if you did?! I'm staying in control of my life!"

"You know, I don't like the way you are talking to me," Jack told him, "You act like I've never done anything crazy for myself. Well, I've been around the block a few times, so trust me when I say that this is crazy. You can't go, Frenchie, you just can't."

"Well, too bad. I'll see you when I see you," Frenchie carelessly waved his hand at Jack and began marching off again.

"You're making a mistake!" Jack yelled after him, uncaring of the looks he received from passer-by's, "She's not going to suddenly change her mind for you, Frenchie!" His friend kept walking, however, without even looking back, and continued around the corner and out of sight. Jack let out an aggravated sigh and kicked the light pole beside him, "Dammit, Frenchie."


	58. Who Cares Anyway?

Chapter Fifty-Eight

_July 16th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

The ladder creaked beneath Jack as he climbed to the top, straddling over it with his pallette in his lap. He let out a long sigh and gazed down the painting that was nearing completion. Frenchie really had gone, Jack realized, when he let himself into the studio that morning. Jack had stayed at the studio for the rest of the evening hoping Frenchie's anger would have subsided before he even made it to the train station. But obviously, he was gone, and Frenchie really had steamed south to Maryland on his fool's errand. Jack looked over his shoulder towards the communal table to see Rose sitting there, hunched over a novel she had been reading. The days approaching the release of her new novel was narrowing, as was the baby's arrival. Rose was excited, naturally, but she hadn't felt well in a few days. She was at the tipping point of nausea, constant aches and pains, and throbbing headaches. Jack decided it'd do her some good to have her out of the house and in a different environment. Since he knew Frenchie really did go to Maryland, he decided to take Rose to work with him.

She lifted her head slightly from reading her novel, absent-mindedly twirling a curl around her slender finger. Her eyes slowly scanned up the ladder to Jack, who was dabbing his paintbrush and continuing his work of a customer's farm scene reimagined. She could see his facial muscles were taut. He usually seemed so fluid and loose when he painted. It almost hurt her heart to see him so tense as he reached out towards the canvas. After a moment, he noticed her staring.

"What'cha lookin' at?" Jack asked, doing his best to display his typical boyish grin.

"I'm looking at a very tired man," Rose smiled, too, cradling her head in her hand.

"A tired man? Where?" Jack looked around the room, earning a soft giggle from Rose, "I'm not tired, I'm just..." He took a deep breath, hunching his shoulders. He gazed down towards Rose from his stoop atop the ladder, "I'm just frustrated. It seems like right now it is so important everything goes right, but it feels like everything is just going _wrong_."

"Seems like just our luck, doesn't it?" Rose asked, toying with the corner of the page she was on, "I just wish you didn't have to be so stressed out. You work so hard... sometimes I worry you work yourself _too _hard."

Jack looked to his painting for a moment, not feeling an ounce of inspiration in his bones. The current whirlwind of emotions that boiled between his brother-sister friend group had taken much more of a toll on him than he expected. He more than anything longed for everything to calm down. Just once, he pleaded. Jack heaved a sigh and dismounted from the ladder, carelessly dropping the pallette on the mat crumpled all over the floor. He knew it was important to complete the commission, but he couldn't do it himself. Jack came to the table and seated himself beside Rose.

"I don't work too hard," He told her after situating himself in the creaky stool, "And I don't want you to think that I do. I'd do anything in the world for you and if that meant I had to work in a coal mine for twelve hours a day, I would do it."

"Oh goodness, well hopefully you're not looking to change career paths," Rose grinned at the thought. She reached her arm out, looping it through Jack's, "Everything is going to be alright. I've never had a sibling of my own, but I know that Frenchie and Iris would never allow for their relationship to end, no matter how at ends they are with each other. This beau-situation will blow over eventually. All we can do is wait and hope for the best."

Jack grinned, reaching his hand out and pressing it to Rose's swollen belly, "Wow, Rose... Violet's really made you wise."

She threw her head back and laughed. Jack melted at the sound of her voice, as sweet and light as cotton candy. As he looked at the love of his life, her words began to take on a new enlightening meaning to him and he clung to the idea that things _would _be okay, slowly but surely. Rose gave him hope. And so did the baby blossoming in her womb. Gently, his hand reached out and just barely skimmed her jaw. Her green eyes fell on him and he nearly fell face first into a field of lush plants. She was his rock, he told himself. He knew she would keep him grounded when all life made him want to do was float away.

"Hey... I just thought of a new baby name," Jack told her.

"Oh, really?" Rose arched her eyebrows, "For a boy or a girl?"

"For a girl, of course," Jack grinned crookedly, "What about Hope?"

"Hope?" Rose echoed. She said the name to herself twice more, slowly nodding, "Hope Dawson... I really like that, Jack. It's a name with real meaning."

"I was thinkin' the same thing," He replied softly, lowering his hands to rest on either side of her large belly. Just beneath his hands, he imagined that baby, who was probably itching to break free from the confines of their safe space. He began to imagine the baby's future, a bright one with endless possibilities, nobody to stand in their way or take away what's theirs.

Jack knew the world was not ready for Baby Dawson, but Baby Dawson was ready for the world.

...

_July 18th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Jack was beginning to grow worried as he and Rose unlocked the studio that morning and entered to find it desserted. Jack flicked the lights on and they growled lowly as the faintest and dimmest light began to illuminate the room. Rose waddled towards the table, rubbing her lower back, which had been aching since the middle of the night, leaving her awake to toss and turn in bed like a fish out of water. Jack sighed, pressing his hands to his hips as he slowly wandered around the large work space. He raked his hair from his face and shook his head. Rose looked over her shoulder as she slowly eased herself onto a stool at the table.

"Frenchie has been gone for too long, Rose," Jack said, still just standing in a perplexed manner in the center of a space that used to be his getaway from reality, "Something's happened. Something had to of. He should have been back by now, whether her had Iris in tow or not. The train ride isn't long at all. He should-"

Suddenly, the studio door was flung open. Jack was surprised and turned to face the entry as Frenchie and Iris came in, both speaking at the same time to each other, running the other person's sentence over before they could even get their point across.

"And I sent you a letter to be hand delivered about my trip-"

"We have so many commissions lined up, we are busting out the ass with-"

"Why can't you just let me have some relaxation time-"

"You've never been gone for this-"

"You've owned and operated this studio for nearly eight years-"

"I need your help-"

"You've never needed-"

Jack watched as the bickering siblings brushed past him without even looking at him. They were so caught up in trumping the other, their cheeks red, their eyes full of flames. Jack looked back towards the doorway to see a rather flustered Tim left in the trail of anger between Iris and Frenchie, who still were yelling on top of each other. Sheepishly, Tim closed the door behind him and set Iris' luggage beside the empty coat rack. He rubbed the nape of his neck and came to stand beside Jack.

"They haven't stopped fighting in nearly two days," Tim said.

"What happened?"

"Well, Frenchie was waiting for us when we came back to land from our little excursion," Tim explained, still watching Frenchie and Iris' sharp hand gestures and exasperated growls, "And to be honest... I've been so lost the entire fight. I've never fought with my sister's this much. I just feel bad. I didn't know I was taking Iris away from her work."

"You weren't!" Iris suddenly exclaimed, "Frenchie is being inconsiderate, rude, persumptuous, every word in the book! You're not being a good brother right now!"

"Oh, really? Because I'm looking out for _your _well-being!" Frenchie shot back, "Just like I told Dad I would and just like I promised Mom!"

"You seriously are _not _bringing them up right now," Iris held her hand out at him, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red, "This isn't about Momma and Papa. This is about us, Frenchie. They're not here and if they were, I don't think they would be as harsh as you're being right now."

"And how would you know?!"

"Because I knew Momma and Papa, too!" Iris cried, throwing her hands at her side, "Just because you knew them for six years longer than me, does not mean I didn't know who my parents really were. Momma always told me I was a hopeless romantic, but hoped I got what I wanted. _This _is what I want, Frenchie! To be with Tim!"

"How can you be so sure?" Frenchie asked, "You've barely known the man for three weeks and you're off taking lavish vacations with him! I've never seen you act so recklessly."

"_Recklessly_?" Iris echoed, nearly incredulously, "Everyone starts as a stranger, Frenchie! Did you think the same thing when I had only known Jack for three weeks!?"

"That's different."

"How?!" Iris screeched so loud, her voice pierced through the empty studio space. A silence fell between the siblings, their shoulders rising and falling as the misery of being pitted against each other set into their skin. Iris pensively licked her lips, "This is no different, Frenchie. You're just scared of the future and you're trying so hard to glue all of us in place. Things _change_, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst. But you cannot hold any of that against us. We can't change what's happened and we can't predict what's soon to come."

"Iris, I love you," Frenchie told her, almost meekly, "And I just want to protect you."

"You're not protecting me from anything," Iris replied, "If anything, you're hurting me."

"That was never my intention-"

"Doesn't make it not true-"

"Iris, please, I just need more time-"

"When is it ever a good time to talk to you!?" Iris curled her hands into fist, "All you want to talk about is art, art, art! Even at home you're reading an art magazine or you're painting on the walls! When do you ever take a break? Why does it take me meeting someone to pull you out of that little world you in live in!?"

"Iris, I-"

Frenchie was cut short, however, by a cry of pain that had everyone's heads snapping towards the table. Rose staggered from her stool, pressing her hands to her stomach. She let out another cry, her knees growing weak underneath her. Tim was the closest and, luckily, had sharp reflexes. He reached forward and grabbed Rose before she could roughly fall onto her knees. Jack was quick to jump in and help lower Rose to the ground, where she let out another cry, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"What is it!?" Jack asked hurriedly, brushing curls from her face that was already gathering a thin sheen of sweat across the skin.

"I... I think the baby is coming...!" Rose said in a pinched voice.

"What?! Now?!" Jack's face paled, "It's too early, Rose! The doctor said not until August! Are you sure?!"

"Jack," Tim lifted his head above Rose's, "her water just broke."

Jack said every curse word in the book, "Our mid-wife is in New Jersey until the end of the month! Where is the nearest clinic!?"

"Jack... I won't make it to the clinic," Rose said between pants. Her voice wavered and she shook in his arms, "The baby is coming _now._"

"Shit, shit, shit," Jack shook his head, looking around the studio in a near frenzy, "Iris, get all of the linens and sheets I left in the attic. Frenchie, buckets of water. Tim, I need you to help me move her somewhere comfortable," Jack began to wrap his arm around Rose's waist, but paused when he saw Iris and Frenchie glued in spot, "Did you hear me!?" He shouted, "Go!" The Cohan siblings scattered about the studio. Rose let out a cry as Tim and Jack slowly lifted her to her weak feet, "It's okay, Rose. It's going to be fine."

"What are you going to do!?" She asked, her eyes brimming with tears now.

"I'm going to deliver the baby," Jack told her.

Slowly, the trio began to inch across the studio, towards the crumpled and paint smudged mats beneath the large canvases that were begging to be finished. The only thing to be heard were Rose's pained cries echoing through the large work space.


	59. When Push Comes to Shove

Chapter Fifty-Nine

_July 18th, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

Iris hurried back with a bundle of tangled sheets and quilts in her hands and quickly spread them over the mat. She set some pillows down and slowly, Tim and Jack laid Rose on her back. She let out another cry as tears began to rush down her flushed cheeks. Iris took off across the studio to meet Frenchie, taking a bucket from one of his hands. When they brought them to Rose, Iris immediately dropped to her knees and with shaky hands, reached for a rag, dunked it in the chilled water, and began dabbing Rose's face. Jack and Tim knelt at Rose's feet.

"Jack, have you ever done this before?" Tim asked quietly, keeping his cool as best he could. He was rattled, however, every time Rose's pained shriek pierced his ears. Jack's entire core was shaking inside of him.

"No," Was all Jack said as he reached for Rose's shoes, pulling them off her feet.

"What's our game plan?" Tim asked, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"I have no idea," Jack shook his head, not even looking at Tim, "Just help me take her stockings off."

Tim did as he was told, glancing fleetingly over Rose's knees at Iris, who was keeping Rose cool, and Frenchie, who was holding Rose's hand in a petrified state. It almost felt internally wrong to Tim as he reached up Rose's skirt and slowly pulled the stocking down. He did his best not to focus on the touch of her skin. He had a goal, he told himself, and that was to ensure the delivery of the baby and Rose's health. After they removed her stockings, Tim reached for a bundle of sheets, spreading them beneath Rose's feet.

"I've never delivered a baby, but I can remember watching the home-births of my last two sister's," Tim told Jack as he discarded Rose's balled up stockings on the ground, "I know there's probably going to be a lot of blood. We have to stop that as soon as possible."

"Okay..." Jack said slowly, staring down at all the blankets gathered beneath them.

"Jack," Tim pressed his hand to his shoulder, drawing the artist's eyes to him, "it's going to be okay. We can do this."

"Tim, I..." Jack was silent for a moment, his face pensive, "I don't know what to say."

"It's alright. Neither do I," Tim weakly grinned but it faltered as Rose let out another scream, squeezing Frenchie's hand so hard he was certain it was going to snap, "Alright, I'll guide you. You need to pull her skirt back."

Slowly, Jack did what Tim said. He craned his neck downward and looked to Tim like he had seen a ghost, "The baby is already showing!"

"That's good," Tim nodded. He finally willed himself to look, too, "That's the head! Good, good! You want the baby to come out head first."

Jack resituated himself closer to Rose on his knees, reaching his hands down. He gawked for a moment longer before he looked over Rose's knees, "You have to push, okay, Rose? Push with everything you got!"

"It hurts!" Rose wailed, shaking her head back and forth, "I don't think I can."

"Hey," Jack said, snapping her eyes to his, "You can do this, okay? Come on, you have to push for me. The baby is right here! On three. One, two, three- push!"

Rose ground her teeth together, whimpers escaping her ragged throat as she squeezed every muscle she could. Frenchie's hand grew numb. Iris hurriedly dabbed her face and neck. Rose let out an aggravated sigh, dangling her head backwards, "GODDAMMIT!" She screeched, shaking her head, "It hurts so much, Jack. I can't, I can't do it!" Tears pricked her eyes again.

"Yes, you can!" Jack insisted, not even looking up, "You're doing great. Your pushing did something!" Jack's fingers were just able to support the smallest inkling of a head coming out. His hands were already slippery in bright red blood, his forgotten cuffs forever stained. Tim held blankets beneath Jack's hands, doing his best to be unphased by the blood dribbling onto it, "Push again! Come on, Rose! Push for me."

Again, Rose squeezed with all her might. The pain was excruciating. It was unlike any book or magazine could ever describe or prepare her for. She felt a burning intensity in her hips, as if her entire skeletal figure was shifting dramatically, never to be perfect again. Her legs throbbed as it felt like all her blood was rushing towards her abdomen, that was taut with cramps she had never expierenced before. Her entire body radiated with an uncomfortable heat and her heart hammered so hard in her chest, she was sure it was going to explode. The damp rag Iris pressed to her face only left momentary relief before the heat burned away any coolness she could soak in. The more she pushed, the worse she felt. She didn't think she was making any progress. She couldn't even feel anything besides the pain. Rose shook her head again, panting heavily.

"If I can't do this, how can I expect to be a good mother?!" Rose cried out.

"Don't start thinking like that!" Jack told her, "Rose, the baby is right here. Just push a little more for me, please. Don't stop!"

"Jack, I don't think I can do it anymore," Rose whimpered, tears streaking down her sweaty face, "I'm not strong enough."

"But you are!" Jack looked over her knees, "You're the strongest woman I know! You can do this, Rose. I know you can. One more push and you're going to be the greatest mother the world has ever seen. Do it for me, do it for the baby!"

"Is the baby really coming out?" Rose asked, tensing her body as a painful cramp swept through her.

"I'm holding the head."

"Does it have hair?"

Jack smirked at her, "It's blonde."

Rose let out an airy laugh, sweeping a damp curl from her sweaty face. She took a few deep breaths, the tears still coming down her cheeks. Iris continued to dab her face. Rose let out a long sigh, "Okay... I'm going to try to push again."

"I'm ready," Jack told her, looking back down. He felt her leg muscles constrict as she tried again. One of her hands curled into fists and Frenchie's hand had grown numb to any feeling, but still, he did not pull his hand away as he watched in near horror at the fact a baby was being born in his studio. He never would have guessed this would happen, "Tim, put your hands up, the baby is coming out!" Rose let out a final push, a scream emitted from her throat. She felt a searing burn ricochete up her spine and she fell back into the pillows, her chest rising and falling heavily. The cry of a baby had her craning her neck as she watched Jack lift a squriming baby wrapped in bed sheets towards him. Jack's arms and chest were stained in blood. Tim dipped back down, balling blankets up against Rose. Rose was fixated on watching Jack peer down at the disgruntled bloody baby. Everyone sat in a silence of awe as they gazed at the new life they had successfully brought into the world.

Perched atop the baby's round head were soft blond curls that bounced as the baby waved it's arms and legs around for the first time, obviously stunned by their new mobility. Jack held the baby firmly in his arms, pressing the bloodied head against his shirt, uncaring of any new stains. Gently, he carressed the side of the baby's face and it calmed, squinting as it peered up at him. The baby had green eyes that were very similar to Rose's. Rose breathed heavily, resting against the pillows. Iris now took her time to properly run the rag across Rose's skin. Rose felt relatively weak, but luckily all the cramps and burning sensations had subsided. She now simply ached, as if she had done strenuous activity the day before and woken up sore.

"What is it?" Rose asked airly, looking towards Jack with her tired eyes.

Slowly, Jack shifted the small baby in his arms. It was fixated on Jack's face, only emitting small whimpers as he peeled the sheets back to expose small baby feet and short stocky legs. Jack grinned, looking up towards Rose.

"It's a girl."

"You're just pulling my leg," Rose panted, propping herself up on her elbow.

"No, really. It's pretty easy to see the difference," Jack laughed lightly. He shifted the baby in his arms and pulled himself to sit beside Frenchie. Slowly, Jack outstretched the baby, who still seemed overwhelmed by it's new surroundings. Iris helped Rose prop herself up on the pillows and she offered her arms out to Jack. Carefully, and with the biggest and proudest grin that could fit on his face, Jack lowered the baby into Rose's arm. Gently, the baby pressed it's pudgey cheek against Rose's collarbone, their small hand grazing her skin, hungry for the contact with it's mother. Rose had fresh tears in her eyes as she ran her fingers through the fresh curls.

Rose was absolutely astounded. She couldn't decide whether to cry or laugh so she did a mix of both. She ran her fingers down from the curls, over the rounded chipmunk cheeks that were rosy in color. She gently tapped the tip of the baby's nose and grazed their lips. Rose couldn't help but think the baby was absolutely perfect in every way. Rose peered into the messy tangled sheets, spying that Jack was right. They had a daughter.

"You win," Rose said quietly, lifting her eyes to Jack, who had been busy adoring Rose holding their new child, "It really is a girl. So... what will we name her?"

Frenchie swapped places with Jack. The artist lowered himself against the pillow beside Rose, craning his head over her shoulder to peer down on their newest family member, "I want to name her Hope," Jack said quietly. He reached his hand out to the baby and she latched her tiny hand around his pinky, earning a grin from her father, "Let's name her Hope Charlotte Dawson."

"Hope Charlotte Dawson... now where did you come up with that?" Rose grinned, pressing her tired and somewhat achey head against Jack's shoulder. His shoulders bobbed as he chuckled slightly.

"I dunno," He shrugged, resting his head against her's, "It sounded nice."

"Wow, look at her!" Iris cooed, leaning in over the sleepy Hope, "She looks just like you, Rose!"

"Yeah, we're in for some trouble," Jack smiled, watching Hope fight to keep her exuberant green eyes open, fearful she would miss even the slightest moment, "Just wait until she's your age," Jack gave Rose a nudge, sending her into her own roll of chuckles.

"I just can't believe it..." Rose whispered, feeling as sleepy as Hope looked, "She's finally here. I thought the day would never come, Jack. I was starting to believe I was going to be pregnant forever. All that pain... all those tiring moments of being pregnant... it was all worth it now that Hope is here. She's absolutely perfect."

"Welcome to the world, Hope Charlotte," Tim said politely, wrapping his arms around a beaming Iris' shoulders, "She's beautiful, Rose. Congratulations."

"Jack... I can't believe you actually did it," Frenchie finally found his voice. The entire time, his eyes had been fixated on the new baby, in absolute awe, "You delivered a baby! You should be a doctor or something!"

"I got lucky this time."

"_This time_?" Rose echoed, arching her eyebrows, "We are _not _doing this again!"

Jack let out a laugh, his head falling against the goosedown pillows he used to lay his lonesome head on in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Slowly, he took Hope from Rose's arms, laying the baby's stomach flat against his chest. He held the baby close to his chest, his shirt forever stained from the events that took place. It was worth it, though. Anything was worth it if it was for his daughter, he told himself. From this day forward, Rose and Hope were Jack's entire world.


	60. The Greater Heights

Chapter Sixty

_October 2nd, 1914_  
_New York City, New York_

The warm weather was finally getting staved off by the more aggressive chilliness of autumn. Along the roads of Rose and Jack's neighborhoods, the trees were slowly transcending into yellows and oranges. The pristine equally shared yards of the townhomes were becoming pale, like wheat, and were beginning to give a satisfying crunch beneath the inhabitants feet. The radios were constantly abuzz with the rumor that New York City would be seeing an early snowfall that year.

Hope Charlotte Dawson was shaping up to be the most adored and beloved baby on the block. Several of their neighbors made a point to come and visit her once word had spread that she had been brought home. Many showed up with casseroles sealed in glass dishes, small blankets of pastel purples and pinks, and even some cloth diapers that the families no longer needed. At just under three months old, Jack and Rose still bickered over who she was looking like the most. Her soft blonde curls had grown out even more and bounced lightly on her head with every movement. As the days went on for Hope, Jack and Rose realized she was a giggly baby and when she smiled at Rose in the morning, Rose couldn't help but melt. Her green eyes looked like lavish emerald jewels. She had Rose's nose and Jack's lips and chin. Who she was going to become in the world had Jack and Rose daydreaming all the while.

Rose's favorite part of the day was entering the nursery in the morning to see Hope with her eyes wide open, following the spinning mobile of seagulls Jack had found at a local toy store. She would kick her legs back and forth in her plaid footy-pajamas as Rose flung the window open to welcome the cool morning breeze. She would then bond with Hope over a breast feeding and every day, Rose couldn't help but marvel over the baby. She couldn't believe her and Jack had created a whole new life together. She loved Hope with every ounce of her being. Since July 18th, Rose had lived her life in complete dedication to Hope Charlotte. Though the delivery had been startling and every single one of their tedious plans had fallen through, Rose was happy with how it happened. It spoke deeply to her, reminding her life wasn't perfect and to not sweat the little meticulous details.

Rose's book, _The Greater Heights, _had hit the shelves at the beginning of August and had been met with very moderate success for a first time author. Thomas was absolutely thrilled with the sales Rose had been able to drag in for the company and she spent many nights fantasizing about her next novel that she hoped really _would _take her to the greatest heights. Work for Jack had luckily settled down and returned to normal in the days following Hope's nearly miraculous birth. It was almost as if Frenchie had seen the light on July 18th when he assisted in delivering the surprise baby. He suddenly admired Tim for his chilvary in assisting Rose and gave Iris his blessing. Iris and Tim had continued to see each other, but there had been no news on the front of any impending engagement, which was fine for Frenchie and Jack, who, for once, just wanted to catch a damn break in their life.

Jack coming home as the sky bled into sherberts was the cherry on top for Rose. Nothing warmed her heart more than coming out from the kitchen with a piping mug of peppermint tea to see Jack laying on his back holding Hope in the air. The baby certainly got enjoyment from it as she cooed and wagged every limb back and forth, jabbing her pudgey fingers in the direction of her doting father. Rose would lean against the archway of the kitchen and smile, every part of her body feeling warm and tingly. He was a great father, a wonderful husband... Rose knew everything had been worth it, finally. And she had finally come to terms with the fact of life that everything happens for a reason.

The friendships of Jack, Rose, Iris, Frenchie, and Tim had been sealed by that fateful afternoon in July. They realized on that hot summer day how irrelevant some things in life were. They discovered the graves they had dug, unhappy with the hills they had chosen to die on. Witnessing the tantalizing birth of Hope Charlotte Dawson had proved to every adult in the room that day that there was more to life than being unhappy and staving things off in an effort to remain passive. Life was precious, they all agreed, and they now strived to live by that motto with the giggly face of Hope as their motivator. Frenchie and Iris had been designated Hope's god-parents. Jack and Rose couldn't be more thrilled to have a variety of wonderful adults that would hopefully prove to be role models in Hope's upcoming childhood.

Every day was a new adventure for Jack and Rose as they crossed bridges they never had, or ever suspected to. Figuring out how to change and powder a squirmy baby had once been a two-man job in the Dawson household, but now, Rose watched with a large grin as Jack deftly changed Hope's diaper while making silly faces at the baby. Some of the neighbors had surely been whispering about them as they saw Jack completely and utterly involved in Hope, sometimes taking her to work with him so Rose could focus on writing. Many evenings, Jack could be found reclined in a sun chair on the back porch, Hope resting on his chest while he drank a beer. Jack didn't think he could ever love something as much as he did Hope. Only twelve weeks old and she already had her parents wrapped around her little finger. There wasn't anything, they agreed, that could prevent them from giving Hope whatever she wanted, desired, or needed. Hope was now number one in everything and her parents certainly did not mind that. They gave every part of their being to taking on their new titles as Mother and Father.

It wasn't until mid-August, around the time Hope had actually been due, that Rose finally began to feel normal again. Whatever her definition of normal was, at least. The first few weeks had left her with resounding cramps some nights. Some days, it was uncomfortable to sit for too long, while others, walking was an absolute chore. Her appetite had been finnicky, but finally, it had began to return to a regular schedule. She was convinced, however, she would have to pee at the top of every hour for the rest of her life. Now that Rose was beginning to fell well again, the time had finally come for Rose to repay her debt to Jack.

Evening time had set it, the clock in the hallway signifying just after eight o'clock. Hope had been laid down, though they knew she was awake. Just next door, on the other side of their ajar door, they could hear the baby making noises, obviously to entertain herself with her newfound vocal cords. Jack was seated in a plush recliner, his legs crossed. Rose exited from the bathroom, her long firey curls falling over her shoulders. She was wearing a long black silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. Jack couldn't help but think she looked like an absolute angel as her robe flowed between her silky legs. She came to stand before him, the most-knowing smirk poising her lips.

"So, Mr. Artiste," Rose said with a voice of velvet. Carefully, she teased at the shoulder of her loose-fitting robe, "Would you like me on the bed... or the couch?" Jack shot her a playful look that sent her into a bout of giggles, "What? You honestly can't expect me to forget your first gawk when you saw me nude."

"Can you blame me?" Jack asked, raking his hair back from his face. He reached for his portfolio that was sitting on a trunk at the end of their bed. He set it in his lap and looked back towards his subject, who was only grinning at him, motionless as she watched him.

"I just would have thought a man with your kind of history would be used to seeing women's breasts and bare stomachs," Rose lifted her chin in a mocking aristrocratic way.

"Yeah, well, don't pretend you're like the women I used to draw," He grinned boyishly, "Now, lay down on the couch beneath the window."

Slowly, Rose lowered herself onto the couch, allowing her robe to become loose, drooping over her shoulder and falling fluidly around her curvy thighs. She extended her soft legs outwards, running over the smooth cotton and she began to set her head back against the pillows. Not even completely nude, Jack felt a heat radiating within him as he admired her curves and the way her petite body beckoned to him. Almost as if it was April 14th, 1912, he felt rather nervous as he gripped his pencil, trying to decide where on the page to start. He had drawn Rose a dozen times over, but there was always something special about when she was laid out before him for his viewing pleasure. Jack realized he had been staring at his subject much too long and cleared his throat, returning to the blank page in front of him. He set the lead to the paper, his mind still overrun with fantasies of running his hand along her silky skin, cupping her breasts into palms, and loving her in her entirety for the rest of the night. Just as he began to make the faintest sketch along the paper, Hope's cries filled the air, resounding through their silent house.

Rose propped herself up on her elbow, "She's probably hungry. This won't take long, I promise," Rose said as she came to her feet and adjusted her robe on her slender figure. She brushed past Jack, gently touching his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

Jack listened to the soft steps of Rose's barefeet against the hardwood. He smiled to himself in his seat as he heard Rose through the walls from the nursery. Gently, Rose cooed at Hope, whispering sweet nothings as she leaned into the crib to collect the fussy baby. After a few moments, Jack leapt from his seat and went to the nursery, his portfolio under his arm. Slowly, he came to the entry of the fully furnished nursery, adorned in spectacular murals on all the walls. Rose was seated in a rocking chair beneath the large picture window that overlooked the backyard. Her robe was pulled back to expose a silky shoulder and she lovingly watched as Hope quieted down and allowed herself to be fed. Jack entered the nursery and plopped down criss-cross on the floor. Quickly, he erased the stroke on the page he had made before and began furiously sketching new lines out.

"What are you doing?" Rose asked, lifting her eyes away from Hope.

A few beats went by before Jack looked up from his portfolio, "This is the picture I want."

"You're telling me you'd rather have a picture of me breast feeding than laid out for your pleasure?" Rose arched her eyebrows and smiled at the thought.

Jack grinned, glancing at her from between his dangling bangs, "Well, you said I get five, right?"

"I was hoping you'd forget about that," Rose laughed, looking at Hope and gingerly brushing some wild blonde curls from her forehead. She watched the baby's small hand grasp at her exposed chest. Rose marvelled that a human's hand could even be that tiny.

"I like this more, though," Jack paused from drawing and looked at Rose, "This is natural. It's you in your every day life. What could be more beautiful than watching you be a mother?"

Rose's cheeks grew warm from Jack's words and she watched as the love of her life returned to continuing with his immense gift. Rose decided to focus on Hope, the sounds of Jack's scratching pencil making it to her ears. She couldn't help but relish in her thoughts of how lucky she was. A year ago, she had been miserable, doomed to what she thought would be an endless parade of unhappiness. But it was magnificent to her to see how much could change in three-hundred and sixty-five days. She didn't have to pretend to be Rose Dawson anymore. She _was _Rose Dawson. Dreams maybe really did come true, she told herself. And every day she would sure to be thankful for what she had. As long as she had Jack by her side and Hope in her arms, Rose knew everything would be okay. They weren't invincible, but they were resourceful, and that gave her more stability in her life than what her childhood had proven to her. Gently, Rose brought her hand up to tenderly graze Hope's rounded cheeks. She wasn't expecting tears to brim her eyes, however, and she laughed at herself, lifting her wet eyes to look at Jack.

"I love you," Rose said gently, pulling Jack from his drawing again.

He smiled as he looked at his loving wife, so overwhelmed by what life had proven to be for her. Jack was nothing but proud of that woman. She proved to herself, to everyone, to the universe, that she wasn't some trapped bird in a cage, waiting for her fire to die out. She was a fighter. She was a survivor. And she was all his.

"I love you, too," Jack told her.

And with that, he returned to his drawing, hurrying to get the border lines done before Hope was full and ready to fall asleep, warm in her crib, in the protection of their home. As the lines began to take shape, Jack's heart swelled with pride as he made the familar marks of Rose's face, defined by her curved nose and her plump lips. Gingerly, he added small tears to the corners of her eyes and worked on lightly sketching out Hope's lively curls.

_My girls... _Jack thought warmly as he paused to look at what he had drawn. He lifted his head, watching as Hope finished feeding. Rose gingerly pressed her lips to Hope's forehead and Jack's heart fluttered in his chest, _You two will always be my girls._

The End

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who stuck through this with me. This ended up being much longer than I originally anticipated. Every review of positivity and constructive criticism has been taken to heart. What started as a simple sample for another author about the fun world of slow burn turned into a fic taking on an entire life of it's own. Thanks again to everyone who took the time to look at my work, it's truly appreciated. Happy Writing! _


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